Insignificance
by the-real-mo
Summary: Sam realizes he has a fondness for his car and Bumblebee feels the same way for him. Only Starscream, Soundwave, and the other Decepticons are gathering their forces... SamxBee, 2007 movieverse with some G1 ideas. This story is abandoned! Sorry.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone

**A/N:** Hey everyone! I've been MIA from FFN for the past year -- you know, college, lack of inspiration, that kind of thing -- but the least likely of sources seems to have brought me back into the fold. Early July, I saw the new Transformers movie, and it was, like, instant love. That kind of thing doesn't happen often with me, and certainly not with a fandom with which I'm unfamiliar. To tell the truth, I have very little knowledge of the whole Transformers world, even though I am a child of the 1980s. I watched Armada a few times in middle school, mostly to laugh at some of the human characters, and it was only this spring that I watched the original Transformers movie (thanks to my wonderful roommate and her Transformers geek-god older brother). So, here I am, late July, with a Transformers fanfic. I'm probably wrong on a lot of the details, but I'm going mostly by the new movie.

**Warnings:** This is, I suppose, slash. Because, well, it's Sam and Bumblebee. I never even thought I'd ever, ever write a Transformers slash fic, but -- well, ha, things happen! Another warning -- swearing, a stupid title, a plot that is still being figured out, multi-chapter story, etc.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything here, but if I did, I'd be a very happy person.

**One more A/N:** I am part of the beexsam community on LiveJournal, username jacques-strappe. I will be posting this story on the community in a few days. 

* * *

**Untitled: Chapter One**

* * *

Sam Witwicky was pretty sure that he was in love – only it wasn't his girlfriend Mikaela Banes whom he had become so infatuated with. He was hesitant to call it_ love_, per se – partly because he was in denial about the whole affair, and partly because he wasn't so sure his feelings could quite be classified as such. The strangest thing, though, was that the _thing_ Sam was enamored with seemingly shared the same feelings for him. 

Several months earlier, before he'd saved the world (with the help of half a dozen giant alien robots, of course), before he knew his Camaro was a sentient being, Sam had often muttered _I love my car_ to no one but himself (or so he thought at the time). And his car would purr contentedly beneath him, its engine revving to an electric moan every time he ran his fingers along the steering wheel; it would hum every time he sunk into the driver's seat. Sam had never thought much of his car's apparent like for him; besides, the old Camaro was obviously a little haywire now and then, with its odd skipping through the radio stations and its occasional tendency to whip open its doors for no apparent reason. Sam had passed all this behavior off as some weird quirk of the old car, and never really gave it a second thought. 

When the Camaro finally did show itself for what it was – a towering yellow robot who was affectionately called "Bumblebee" by his comrades – well, this new revelation _completely _wiped out any ideas Sam might have had about his car fancying him. There was an issue of the survival of the human race at stake, and that was a lot more important and exciting than the suspicion that his car just might_enjoy _being driven. 

Still, Sam was fiercely protective of his car-slash-giant robot guardian-slash-best friend, and when the scum from Sector Seven had taken Bumblebee away, he had tried his best to stop them, risking his life to save that of the Autobot. They shared a deep bond, Sam and Bumblebee, car and driver – it was something Sam couldn't explain, not even to himself.

And, when all hell had broken loose and Optimus Prime was battling Megatron in the heart of the city, and Bumblebee was effectively crippled – Sam had had to bite away tears when he was handed the Allspark and told to run. He didn't want to look into those piercing blue optics, afraid that he'd never see them again – he loved that car, no, Bumblebee – but the peril all around him, the exploding buildings and the dying people and the dueling Cybertronians – had driven the thoughts from his head.

That had been two months ago.

And now, with much less on his mind, Sam Witwicky was well-aware of the steady thrumming of the Camaro's engine, as he sat, content, in the driver's seat. It was a warm vibration, soothing, _loving_, almost – but at this, Sam stopped himself and simply smirked. _What a stupid thought. _The idea faded away and, bored, Sam glanced out the window. It was an overcast, gloomy August afternoon, the air cool and the sky threatening rain. The depressing weather conditions, though, weren't such a bad prospect; the chance of a storm had driven everyone else away from the lake, leaving Sam alone with Bumblebee, and besides, the Camaro was in need of a good wash – and some rain would do just that.

Sam found himself lost in his thoughts; Bumblebee must have sensed this, too, because he didn't interrupt. Mikaela had become distant as of late – she accused Sam of spending _too _much time with his car, which he didn't consider a problem since his _car _was a _giant robot_and his _best friend. _And, besides, was it really so unhealthy for Sam to have some time alone with Bumblebee, so that he could brood over his thoughts?

He sighed, subconsciously running a hand over the leather of the seat, subconsciously enjoying the purring response that he got in return. Sam smiled, slightly, and let his head fall against the headrest. The radio that Bumblebee often used to communicate with crackled to life, issuing garbled words and bursts of static before, softly, "I'm pickin' up good vibrations, she's giving me excitations, good, good, good, good –"

"Bee?" Sam asked, his voice cutting across the song. His smile was no longer relaxed; it was now uncertain, cautionary. "You wanna talk?"

" – At first I was afraid, I was petrified –"

"I mean, you don't have to if you don't wanna, but…" Sam shrugged into the seat – at this movement, the car quivered slightly. "… it's hard to talk to you when you're using the radio, that's all, and besides, you don't even _need _to use it anymore, so…" His voice faded away.

" – Oh, ohh, baby, don't you know I'm human, have thoughts like any other one –"

"Talk to me, Bee," Sam said simply. "Or else I might do something like… _this._" He began to caress the leather of the passenger's seat, moving his fingers in slow circles. The Camaro shuddered, its engine revving to a needy whine then dying to a content purr when Sam took his hand away. "Liked that, did you?" he asked, a bit frightened and a bit amused at the same time. His own heart was racing, though he wasn't sure of _why. Well, no, that's a lie_, Sam told himself, _but still…_

There was a stretch of silence, then radio static, as if the autobot was straining to gather an answer. The radio tuned itself, landed on the opening guitar riff of a Rolling Stones song, then " – Start me up –"

Sam allowed himself to laugh nervously. _Oh, what in the hell am I getting myself into? My car – no, even better – my _giant alien robot guardian _is in love with me. _Uncertainly, Sam reached forward and ran his fingers along the steering wheel; it warmed at his touch, and the body of the car rumbled around him. A shaky smile came to Sam's lips. For some reason, for some completely _wrong _and _twisted_reason, the whole situation seemed oddly… erotic. He didn't care to know _why_, exactly, and he didn't want to spend time thinking about the matter any further. Sam tried to distract himself and quickly changed the subject. "Bee," he said hesitantly, his voice odd and croaking, "do you want to drive someplace?"

" – Come on and take a free ride – "

"Oh, alright – but you have to promise me, Bee, that you'll actually _talk _to me afterward. Okay?" A short rumble of agreement sputtered from the Camaro's engine, and the automobile started itself up (Sam especially loved this detail, because he didn't have to worry about losing the key to the car, which he had already succeeded in doing over a month ago). 

It was a Sunday, and a dreary one, at that. The roads were relatively clear of traffic; even the stretch of highway that Sam loved to drive on – his favorite owing to its hills, turns, and the ability to push 90 miles an hour without being pulled over – was almost completely devoid of other cars. Bumblebee let him take over the steering, and steer Sam did, rounding hairpin turns with a glint of _something _in his eyes. The Camaro's radio would sporadically change from station to station, something that Sam had gotten used to, and he no longer minded it when one of his favorite songs, halfway through, would be replaced by the raucous shouting of the Spice Girls. Currently, it was Crosby, Stills, and Nash. " – change my life, make it right, be my baby – "

Sam heaved a tired-sounding sigh. Really, he wasn't exhausted; he was just completely exasperated. Exasperated, and deeply confused. And disturbed. "Is it even _possible_?" he found himself asking. As if to answer in the affirmative, the car purred, the seat warmed, and the engine raced. Sam felt his heart beating very quickly, almost in time to the vibrations pulsing through the body of the vehicle. He was on the cusp of indecision and fright. "How?"

Bumblebee answered in the usual way, and the radio changed stations until the dial landed on the shrieking words, " – touch-a, touch-a, touch-a, _touch me_ – " 

Sam stared at the dashboard of the Camaro, the part of the car that he often imagined to be Bumblebee's face. Not only did his car have a peculiar taste in music (_Rocky Horror, for Christ's sake, _Sam thought, _all thanks to the internet_), was the Autobot actually asking him to do what he _thought _it was?

"Fine, then," Sam said carefully. "You take over driving." He added, as an afterthought, "And don't get us pulled over." The Autobot complied and the boy stared helplessly at the console of the Camaro. Bumblebee was an excellent driver – flawless, in fact, and certainly better than Sam – but Sam always felt rather conspicuous when his car drove itself, especially on the highway and in broad daylight. "I don't even know where I should start," he murmured, more to himself than the autobot.

Bumblebee didn't reply with a song, though, and instead a neutral-sounding piece of classical music played softly on the radio. Sam groaned, his pulse quickening – _fear of the unknown, more than anything else, _he thought – and leaned back in the black, leather car seat. First he ran his hand over the armrest, caressing it lightly, wondering if he could in fact _tease _the Autobot. It worked. The radio squawked and became static, the engine buzzed, the car's speed picked up. _What am I doing? _Sam asked himself as he began to fondle the gearshift – which Bumblebee apparently enjoyed very much. _What in the fuck am I doing? _

It didn't matter – because as much as the Autobot was enjoying it, Sam found himself enjoying it, too. The throbbing of the engine resonated through his bones to his very soul; his breaths became rapid and irregular; his heart hammered against his ribcage. Sam's ministrations turned back to the steering wheel. He groped it, and as he did, the car's engine hummed louder than a purr – the sound turned into a rumbling, vibrating moan that reverberated through Sam's body.

_God, this is awesome – no, no, no, no – this is so wrong, this is so wrong, this is _so_ wrong…_

But, as if Bumblebee could read his mind, the radio tuned itself, landing on a pulsating, electric beat, accompanied by the synthesized words _" – Harder, better, faster, stronger…_"

And Sam, like his car, was suddenly in bliss, because then, it was just the two of them, the roaring of Bumblebee's engine moving through his body, the unseen world outside streaking by, a satisfied moan escaping from his lips –

And then, a different noise. For a moment, Sam had been oblivious to everything else except _them_ and the wonderful feeling that had been flooding his body, but the wailing of a police siren tore him from his reverie. He glanced at the speedometer and his eyes goggled. "Bee!" Sam hissed, and slammed his foot on the brake. "We're going over a hundred and twenty!"

Sam was answered by a snippet from Paul McCartney: "We're so sorry – "

"No, no, don't worry, Bee," Sam groaned, rubbing his forehead as he slowed the Camaro, pulling it to a stop on the side of the highway. Behind him, the police car, its lights flashing wildly, also grinded to a halt. Sam still hadn't gotten to the point were he could trust police cars again, as memories of the Decepticon Barricade were still fresh in his mind. He glanced up to the rear-view mirror, a nervous expression on his face. "Oh, my God, Bee, a hundred and twenty miles an hour! That's, that's – that's like going _forty _over!" A pause. "My parents are gonna _kill _me."

Bumblebee didn't have time to answer, because at that moment, the sheriff was standing outside the driver's-side door, motioning for Sam to roll the window down. He complied. The car shuddered when Sam's finger hit the window _down _button, and though the slight purr was enough to make the smallest of smiles pull at the boy's lips, he knew that _now_was most certainly _not _the time. 

The police officer leaned into the window, taking a moment to survey the Camaro's black interior. He raised his eyebrows and seemed impressed with what he saw. Sam noticed everything was reflected in the man's sunglasses, and he was strangely reminded of a scene from _Cool Hand Luke_. "Awful nice set of wheels you've got here, kid," the patrolman drawled.

"Y-yeah," Sam said, his voice shaking both from fear and from what had happened between him and his car only moments before. "I like it a lot." _God, that sounded lame._

"License and registration, please." Wordlessly, Sam handed the documentation over, his heart still racing. "You always go forty miles over in this thing?" the cop asked, tapping the top of the car. Bumblebee's engine stirred, only this time, he sounded _annoyed_. "Please turn off the car."

"I – sir, it _is_off." Then, off to the side, in a rushed whisper, "Bee,_don't get me in trouble!_"

The officer noticed. "There someone else in there with you, er – " he looked at the driver's license – "Sam Witwicky?"

He shook his head. "No, sir. It's just me and my car, we – "

"Yeah, yeah, you share a _special bond_. Believe me, I've heard that one _many_times."

"And do you believe it?" Sam asked, not sure _why _he was attempting to engage the police officer in conversation. 

A thoughtful expression crossed the man's face. He took off his reflective sunglasses, his gaze meeting Sam's, and leaning closer, he said carefully, "You know, sometimes I _do _think it's possible. Though I'm not sure it's reasonable grounds for me to let you off with just a warning." He smirked, but it wasn't an unpleasant smile. 

"N-no, I don't believe so, either – " Sam stammered, desperately wishing he could tell the policeman all about how his speeding _car _was actually a _giant alien robot_. 

"But," said the officer, "your record's relatively clean, here. In fact,_spotless_. So," he said, producing a pad of paper and a pen, "I'll write you up for going _twenty _over. And we won't include a reckless endangerment charge, either. I'm in a pretty generous mood today, and besides," – he flashed a dry smile – "you don't look like the kind of boy that should end up in jail for just having a little _fun _on the highway."

Five minutes later, the cop was gone and Sam was sitting there, still in shock from the whole affair, not believing his luck. _He must have recognized my name, or something_, Sam thought to himself. _The government knows I'm a _hero_, or some shit like that. _The car started itself up and pulled back onto the highway, and he hardly noticed, not until, quite suddenly, "I promised we would talk."

The sound of Bumblebee's _voice_ – not the radio, for once – was enough to shake Sam from his thoughts. "What? Oh! Oh, yeah. Take us to the lookout, I guess. But slower, this time!"

"Okay."

"So you're talking, now," Sam observed.

"Yes."

"Can you tell me what that all was about, back there? I mean – " Sam broke off, sighed, and started over again. "I felt it, too, is what I mean. I –" He stopped himself from saying anything more, feeling himself flush at the thought.

"You liked it, is that what you were going to say?"

Sam nodded, slightly, feeling himself exhale suddenly as if he'd been punched in the gut. "Oh, Bee, I'm _so _confused!" 

"We're almost there," Bumblebee said. "We will talk about it then."

"Okay," Sam said. He absently began to rub the palm of his hand over the smooth leather of the armrest; the Camaro hummed contentedly as they took an exit ramp and headed to their favorite hangout, the overlook that provided a perfect view of the city. When the car finally pulled to a halt, Sam climbed out and ran his fingers through his hair. The humidity, among other things, was making him highly uncomfortable, and he just wished it would _rain _already. The Camaro began to whir and clank, producing the unique sounds of its transformation that left Sam in awe every time, no matter how often he'd seen it take place. The boy stepped back, letting Bumblebee finish his change, then finally looked up, up – it had to be more than fifteen feet, at least – into the face of the Autobot. 

"So," Sam said, feeling uncertain.

"We'll talk," Bumblebee replied, and lowered a hand, obviously wanting Sam to be at the same level he was. The boy complied and was soon lifted into the air, then deposited on the Autobot's metallic shoulder. "Lucky you aren't afraid of heights," Bumblebee said, surprisingly rather conversational.

"Yeah," Sam murmured. They were facing west, toward the city, toward the storm clouds that were rolling their way. It was a beautiful, unique view, something that Sam and Bumblebee shared often but neither tired of. "I forgot to ask – I haven't heard from them in several days – how're Optimus Prime and the rest of your buddies doing?"

"It varies," Bumblebee said, sounding vaguely amused. "Optimus is happy enough, he likes your planet. Thinks humans are – fascinating. Ratchet's been watching over several of the car manufacturing plants, just to see what goes on – says he rather prefers the practices at the Japanese facilities over the ones in your country. Didn't say why, but he also added that the level of human understanding of computer-based robots is laughable."

Sam smirked. "He sounds like a pain in the ass."

"Ratchet is…" Bumblebee paused, searching for the right word. "… unique."

"Uh-huh."

"He's a good individual. He's got a sense of humor."

"I've noticed," Sam said. "And Ironhide? Still trigger-happy?"

"Oh, yes," said Bumblebee. "Very much so. Then again, he's always been. But it's no lie if I told you he wanted to shoot down several people who are in the American government right now."

The boy laughed. "I'll bet." He was about to say something else, but decided against asking about how the Autobots were coping with the loss of Jazz, their fifth member. Sam hadn't seen it happen, but the silver-colored Autobot had been ripped in two by Megatron. Just the idea of something so vicious and sudden made Sam shudder. There was a comfortable silence between the two, but Sam knew what was coming and so, finally, he asked, "Hey, Bee? Can we, um, talk about what happened earlier?"

"Yes," the Autobot said. "Son of a glitch that I am – I'm sorry if I… alarmed you."

"Well – it wasn't that," Sam said truthfully. "I mean – oh, I don't know. I just didn't know that – "

"That we could love?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess I should have figured it out, you know, since you guys have all the other emotions." He shrugged. "Wasn't doing my homework, I guess. Being stupid."

Bumblebee imitated Sam's shrug – the movement nearly threw the boy off the towering Autobot's shoulders. "Sorry," he said, straightening himself. "It's a common misconception. And humans, I've found, have taken us to be, first and foremost, _computer_-based robots, which in your world are emotionless."

"Right."

"So, yes, your misconception is justified."

"I still feel like an idiot, though."

"Don't," Bumblebee said. "Maybe I was wrong for thinking it'd ever work out."

"Wait!" Sam gasped. "Wait one second. Who said it wouldn't?"

The Autobot's faceplate twitched. "Oh, I don't know – " he paused and pretended to count off several factors on his metal fingers. "There's the issue of Mikaela and the fact that the two of you seem to be a couple… The problem with how I'm an Autobot and you're a human… And how I'm a car half the time…"

Sam balked at these reasons. "Oh, come _on_. I'm probably stupid for saying this, but I, for one, think it'd work."

"Primus, you're weird," Bumblebee said, his voice sounding like he was in awe. 

"Maybe I am. But I'd be lying, Bee, if I said I didn't _like_ what happened a little while ago. Seriously."

"As would I," the Autobot said. "But just the _complexities _of it all…"

"… are no reason to shoot it all down," Sam said. "So to speak."

"Hmm," Bumblebee said. "You're persistent."

"I know."

"And what about Mikaela?" he asked.

Sam thought for a moment. He loved her – _Well, kinda. _But there was this growing distance between the two of them lately, and it was starting to make him think otherwise. They were still very friendly with one another, and when they _were _together they often acted as if there was no rift to speak of – but still. Sam knew that it would be tough to bring it up, if ever. 

"Sam?"

"Oh. Oh, I don't know, Bee. I was thinking about it all. She'd laugh at me if I told her, wouldn't she?"

Bumblebee considered this. "Mikaela seems like a reasonable person. If she truly loved you – or _respected_ you, even – then she would listen. And hopefully not judge you _too _much."

Sam forced a laugh. "Yeah, because when she hears I'm carrying on an affair with my_car_, she'll _really _be understanding of it all."

"Well, _you're_optimistic," Bumblebee huffed.

"You're the one who said two seconds ago that it wouldn't work."

"True."

A sudden flood of inquiries and ideas popped into Sam's head. "Question one, Bee: does this make me gay? Because I really, _really _don't want it to. I mean, I've never really even _looked _at guys before, except –" he stopped himself before he could say anything more. "And, uh, question two: do you guys have, like, _fembots_ or something?"

"I can't answer your first question," Bumblebee said. "I'm not a psychiatrist, nor am I _human_. That's up to _you_. As for your second question, yes, we do. And they can be dazzling – well, those that are left, after the Decepticons went on a rampage and Cybertron blew up. Which reminds me, Optimus said a few days ago that Arcee should be showing up in a week."

"She a, uh, lady-Autobot?"

Bumblebee nodded. "Smart, and good fighter, too."

"So how do you guys, like –"

If Bumblebee could have smirked, he would have. But instead, he just shook his head, obviously amused, and said, "We'll talk about that some other time. _You_ need to talk to Mikaela."

"My alien robot guardian is convincing me to break up with my girlfriend," Sam mused. "Amazing."

"Isn't it?"

"Hard to believe," he said. There was some comfortable silence, then – rain. It was cool and refreshing – _purifying, _Sam realized. He turned his gaze to the leaden sky, shut his eyes, and let the raindrops strike his face. It was a figurative rebirth, Sam decided. _It's time to start over again. _"Bee," he murmured at last, still facing the clouds, "let's go home."

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

**Songs used:**

Beach Boys, Good Vibrations

Aretha Franklin, I Will Survive

The Animals, Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

Rolling Stones, Start Me Up

The Edgar Winter Group, Free Ride

Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Judy Blue Eyes Suite

Rocky Horror Picture Show, Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch-a

Daft Punk, Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

Paul McCartney and The Wings, We're So Sorry, Uncle Albert

**A/N:** Okay, I want your feedback on this, really. I promise I'll come up with a title for the fic, it's just that actually requires some thinking (which I am incapable of right now). I hope you like it so far, but me being new to this fandom and all, I'm just a little nervous about how this fic looks.

Much love,

mo


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I return

**A/N:** I return! Sorry about the wait between chapters… normally I like to update within a few days. Let's just say it's been a hectic week for me and my family! A big thank you to those who have read and reviewed this and favorited it and such, that's pretty cool for me. This chapter is considerably shorter than the last – mostly because I think it's a good stopping point to end a chapter, but also because I kind of have an inkling that the first chapter was a little… lengthy.

**Warnings:** Mikaela is in this chapter, and, well – she's upset. (Most likely, in the same circumstance, you would be, too.) I am not gonna go down that stereotypical bitch-girlfriend path, though, so don't worry. I promise things will be better.

**Disclaimer:** Hasbro et al owns them. But if I could own one, it'd be Starscream. Wait, did I just say that? Nope.

* * *

**Untitled: Chapter Two**

* * *

The ride back was slow, as Bumblebee had decided to take the long way home. Sam didn't mind, though; he was content sitting in the driver's seat, the chair reclined as far back as it would go, his hand idly stroking the leather upholstery, feeling Bumblebee's purrs tremor through his body. He was comfortable, the air inside the Camaro being warmer than it was outside, making the windows steam up as if something scandalous was going on inside the car. Sam sighed, wondering what the hell he was thinking – wondering what the hell he was _doing_. _I'm in love with my car_, he told himself. _And my car is a guy. And, well, he's a giant robot, too. I am _so _stupid. _

The Camaro came to a grinding halt in the driveway, and for a moment, Sam simply sat there, staring at the raindrops that were hitting the windshield, thinking about what he was about to do. "Oh, Bee," he murmured miserably at last, tilting the seat back up, "I don't think I've got the balls to do this."

Bumblebee's voice, and not the radio, answered. "Sure you do, and you better do it now, because Mikaela's walking up to your window and will be there in less than three seconds."

"No, no, no, _no. _Are you _ser_ – " But Sam couldn't finish his sentence, because a half-second later, there was the sound of tapping on the fogged glass. For the second time that afternoon, Sam pushed the window down, and there, a sight for sore eyes, was a very drenched-looking Mikaela, wearing a watery grin on her face. She looked as if she'd been in the rain for quite some time; her dark hair hung in strands over her face, raindrops clung to her eyelashes, and her tank-top was literally soaked through, highlighting just how bra-less she was beneath. Sam tried to smile. "Hi, Mikaela – " he gurgled.

"I've been following you for the last three miles!" she gasped, and motioned behind her to the motorbike that was parked several yards away. "Yelling at the top of my lungs for you to stop! Can't believe you didn't hear me." Mikaela was panting heavily, and added as a breathy afterthought, "Hello, Bee."

"Hello, hello…" the Camaro's radio crackled to life and played a short snippet from The Beatles. 

"To be honest, I didn't see you or hear you," Sam said. "Bee, open up and let her in." The passenger-side door flung itself open, the driver-side window rolled itself up, and a moment later, a sopping Mikaela climbed into the car. "Bee had the radio blasting, windows were fogged up and all…"

"No, no," she said, giving him a watery kiss on the cheek – Sam noticed this made the car hum rather agitatedly, "it's fine. I mean, besides, what was I thinking? You can't just _stop _in the middle of the road to say hi to me. Not safe, I suppose."

"Yeah, I guess not."

An indescribable look passed over Mikaela's face. It had to be concern, Sam figured, concern mingled with… jealousy? Knowing? Amusement? The expression was fleeting, though, and was soon replaced simply with a cheery façade. "Don't want my boyfriend and his lovely car to be hurt by some jackass going forty miles over the speed limit."

"Er, no, that wouldn't be a good thing," Sam murmured lamely, remembering his speeding ticket only a few hours before. 

"Okay, really, Sam," Mikaela said quite suddenly, her voice stronger than it had been a moment earlier. "Something's wrong, and you're gonna tell me what it is before I start taking random guesses – and believe me, I have a hunch that some of these guesses are _not far_off the mark, so if you could _please _tell me the problem first and spare yourself the embarrassment–?"

"Um," Sam started. He really had no idea how he'd say it; he hadn't been given time to practice or think his words over, and everything was all hitting him too fast, so much that he felt like screaming. "There's this thing."

"Thing?" Mikaela asked incredulously. "Sam. _Tell me_ what's going on in your head. I _know _something's up. I'm not about to start acting like I don't notice anything, because I damn well _do._" Her words were blunt, but there was no hint of anger in the girl's voice. 

Again, Bumblebee's radio searched the airwaves and quickly came up with "Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a car – " 

Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated, feeling pressure on both sides. He had to do it. _Now_was the time, and he couldn't back away – he couldn't let Bumblebee down, and he most certainly couldn't keep leading Mikaela on with a lie. _The rain_, Sam reminded himself. _New beginnings_. The boy took a deep breath. "Okay, Mikaela, can you promise not to, um – well, just let me say my thing, okay, and – well, I love you, and I don't want you to judge me based on it." _I'm stammering like a fool_, Sam thought to himself, wondering if things could get any worse. "Mikaela, I'm – oh, this is stupid-sounding, I know." What came next tumbled out of his mouth very fast, all the words joined to form one. "I'mkindofinlovewithBumblebee."

"Huh?"

"I," Sam carefully said, "am in love with Bumblebee. My car. The Autobot." For some reason, saying it aloud made him feel better already. Slowly, he looked up from the dashboard, his eyes meeting Mikaela's. 

"Well, shit."

"Mikaela, listen – "

She shook her head. "Oh, no, I've listened, and I've heard enough." She reached for the car door, but it opened without her touch; Bumblebee obviously wanted her _out. _"I thought – I thought maybe – but I always told myself – " She didn't finish her sentence. Sam glanced at Mikaela, but couldn't tell if she was crying, or if the drops of water around her eyes were simply left over from the pouring rain outside. "I can't answer you right now, Sam Witwicky. Maybe later, but goddamn it, not right now." She climbed out of the car, but before Sam could shout anything to her, Bumblebee had slammed the door back shut. 

"Oh, fuck." He heard the rumbling of Mikaela's motorbike as she drove away; the sound faded into the distance as both Sam and Bumblebee sat in silence. The rain poured down harder, blanketing the windshield, giving it the effect of melting glass. Sam heaved a miserable sigh. "Well, that went over spectacularly."

"My apologies," Bumblebee said. 

He shook his head. "No, I didn't expect it to go well, not right away. That would have been too good to be true." Inside, Sam felt crushed, as if someone had dropped a two hundred-pound weight on his heart, or as if someone had stomped repeatedly on his ribcage. _No girlfriend. No friends, except –_ Sam shuddered, curling into the car seat, feeling it heat around him. There was a time when he thought nothing would be cooler than having several giant, alien robots as his best friends. But now, more than anything, he craved normalcy, human contact, _flesh-and-blood _friends. _Who am I kidding? How could I ever have believed she'd be okay with it? _A foreign noise escaped his throat: Sam was crying. "Bee – oh, Bee, I am _such _a fucking _idiot_ – " he sobbed, his voice low and straining. 

"No," the Autobot replied, "you are not an idiot. Mikaela will come about, give her time. It's probably a very unpleasant surprise, for her."

"She sounded like she knew."

"Probably disgusted to find her fears were justified," Bumblebee said.

Sam groaned unhappily. "Is it so disgusting?"

"It's different," the car replied, "but not disgusting."

"Bumblebee?"

"Yes?"

"What time is it?" He was facing the steamed window, watching the rivulets of rainwater streak down its clouded surface.

"Eight thirty-six," came the answer.

"I don't feel like moving."

"What are you thinking?"

"Mind if I spend the night sleeping here? Or – you know – do you have to meet up with the rest of the Autobots?"

"Not until tomorrow night," Bumblebee said. "And it's only a weekly report from everyone, so if you want to accompany me – "

Sam nodded. "I think I would. I – I wanna talk to Optimus. I mean, if that's alright. If he found out – how would he react?"

The Camaro hummed, in thought. "He has known my feelings toward you for a long time," Bumblebee stated. 

"_For a long time_ – ? Bee, _how_ long?"

"I knew right away, Sam."

"_I _feel like an idiot all over again," he grumbled.

"At the time Optimus thought that you were not interested. He thought I was hoping for too much."

"But," Sam said hopefully, "he wouldn't be, like, _really _disturbed or anything? I mean, I know he loves humans and all, but – "

"Optimus will be amused," Bumblebee responded. 

Sam grunted. "I just wish Mikaela – "

"Give her time, Sam."

"I hate to hurt her."

"I know."

Several minutes of silence passed. The sky grew darker, the rain let up from a downpour and hit the Camaro's roof in a peaceful _tap tap tap_. Sam sighed, wondered what Bumblebee was thinking at that moment, and knew that the Autobot was probably wondering the same thing about the human inside him. He broke the silence, finally, with, "My parents are gonna kill me."

"Why is that?" Bumblebee sounded amused.

Sam shrugged into the leather seat. "Well, for one, the shit will hit the fan when they've found out things are basically over for me and Mikaela – and, well, when they realize I've spent the night _in my car_instead of _in the house_, I can imagine they won't be too pleased about that, either. Hell, they might even get suspicious…"

"That would be unfortunate."

Sam nodded, and knowing that Bumblebee would listen to him, and that he finally had an outlet for all his anguish, all his fears, everything that was torturing his mind – he continued, speaking angrily, forcefully, heatedly about things that Bumblebee could and couldn't understand. "They're_already _suspicious – wondering why the hell I _waste_ so much time with you – wondering why I'm not spending loads of money on gas – hell, when I showed up with a brand-new, unreleased_concept car_ for the first time, they absolutely _assaulted_me with questions! I'm not even _sure_ how I was able to convince them – " Sam took a deep and rattling breath, on the verge of tears again.

"And Mikaela," he continued, his voice sounding frail, "goddamn it, she hates me. I'm sure of it. The stupidest thing of all is that I feel like complete shit about it – I've hurt her, I know I have – she's probably thinking right this moment about how she wasted several months of her life with a complete idiot! And no doubt she'll spread the word – _Sam Witwicky, hero, carries on a relationship with his car! _I wish I could tell her how sorry I am for being such an asshole to her, but like she'd ever want to talk to _me_ again – _goddamn it!_" Sam punctuated his outburst with the slamming of his fist on the dashboard. The car rocked a little, not in a hurt sort of way, but nevertheless Sam apologized quietly.

"You have a lot on your mind," Bumblebee said. "We – the Autobots, that is – severely misjudged you humans – the capacity of your minds and your feelings – how complicated things are for you."

"Some of us, anyway," Sam muttered. "I can guarantee you that I'm one of the select few humans who interacts with giant robots on a daily basis."

"Do you regret what happened?"

The boy vigorously shook his head. "No. No, not all. It can be a real pain sometimes – you know, with parents and relationships and everything," – Sam forced a smile – "but I wouldn't trade it for anything else."

"So you meant what you said, then."

"What'd I say?"

And then, just like a tape recorder, Bumblebee played back part of the conversation that Sam had had with Mikaela less than an hour earlier. "_I am in love with Bumblebee,_" Sam's recorded voice was saying, "_My car. The Autobot_." There was a burst of static and the audio file came to an end. 

Sam thought for a moment, simply because he was surprised at how much his voice didn't seem to sound like how he'd always _thought _it sounded. "Well – " he began, feeling thoroughly embarrassed about it all, "yes. I think so. I mean – what I feel for you, right now – it eclipses anything I had going for Mikaela, and I thought I loved her, I really did…"

The car around him seemed to hum contentedly, and Sam leaned back into the seat again. Another few minutes of almost complete silence stretched between them – save for the rain that continued to strike the windshield – until Bumblebee finally said, "My sensors detect you are exhausted, Sam. Some rest would be beneficial – " But even before Bumblebee had finished, he realized that the human sitting in his reclined driver's seat was, in fact, already asleep.

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**Songs used:**

The Beatles, Hello, Goodbye

Grease, Summer Nights

**A/N:** Like I said, sorry about Mikaela and everything, but I promise that's not the end of her in the story. Anyway, hope you're liking the story, as always feedback is greatly appreciated. Hopefully I'll have an update in less than a week!

Love forever,

mo


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So I was writing this and I realized that there was a lot more I wanted to include in this chapter. But I figured, hey, this installment is long enough already, and I don't want to keep my readers waiting! I'll make more of an author's note at the end of the chapter, as to not give anything away, and to explain some stuff. Also! I want to thank all my readers and reviewers, you guys are seriously the best!

**Warnings:** There is, somehow, a tad bit of angst in this chapter. Just a little. But enough. And it might be more prevalent in upcoming chapters (but not, like, angst!angst). Another warning: the start of a real plot. Oh dear…

**Disclaimer:** The only piece of Transformers merchandise I own is a keychain. A keychain! Pathetic. In other words, they are not mine!

* * *

**Untitled: Chapter Three**

* * *

When Sam woke the next morning, his eyes were greeted with a shimmering rectangle of diffracted light, and for a short moment, he panicked. _Where am I? _His vision came into focus and seeing the leather upholstery of the Camaro, he suddenly remembered. Sam remembered the day before and all the improbable things that had taken place – Bumblebee, the cop, _Mikaela_. He groaned. Bumblebee sensed this and came to life, his radio whirring through the airwaves until, "Good morning, starshine, the Earth says hello…"

"G'morning, Bee," Sam grunted, still feeling very groggy. He glanced up to the windshield again, and saw the bits of leaves and raindrops that coated it, casting the morning sunlight about in a curious way. "We have a storm overnight?"

"Yes," came the reply. "I was impressed that you were able to sleep through it all."

"It was a very deep sleep," Sam said, stretching his arms over his head and yawning loudly. Something in his neck popped – the sound made the car jump a little – and Sam relaxed again, settling back into the seat. "I had a dream. I forget what it was about, though, but it went on and on and on."

Bumblebee hummed with interest, but did not question the matter. Instead, he said, "Your mother left a note two hours ago."

"Wait, what?" But Sam glanced to the windshield, and sure enough, tucked under one of the wiper blades, was a slip of yellow paper. "Oh, great, I'm in for it. I'm surprised she didn't drag me out and lock me in my room!" He rolled down the window, reached forward and took the somewhat-soggy note, and read it aloud. " 'Sam, we're worried. Please talk to us.' What the hell?" He flipped the piece of paper over, but there was nothing else written. "I spend the night in my car instead of the house, and all they want is to _talk? _Weird."

"Is _the talk_ a human way of extreme punishment?"

A smirk pulled at the corner of Sam's lips. "In some circumstances, Bee, yeah." He glanced down at the brief note again. "But it just looks like they're concerned, not angry. So…" Sam reached for the door but it opened without his touch. "Thanks, Bee. If they want to talk, talk we will. Before it gets any stranger. Or – you know – before they find out some stuff from someone _else_."

"Speaking of which, I need to talk with Optimus today, face-to-face, before the meeting tonight."

"Why?" Sam asked, one foot on the damp driveway and the other still inside the car. 

"I received some troubling signals overnight," Bumblebee replied, his voice sounding ominous. "It seems they were not intercepted by any of the other Autobots. The transmission was aimed specifically for myself, and the message was not exactly positive news."

Sam blinked, and waited. "Well?"

"I – am not sure I should tell you right now, Sam. It could just be a glitch, or an old signal. I must discuss it with Optimus first, and at the meeting tonight we will be at liberty to analyze it."

"I understand," Sam said, though a frown masked his features. 

"I'm sorry I can't tell you more," Bumblebee rumbled. "But your concern right now is to talk with your parents. I'll be back before four o'clock."

Nodding, Sam climbed out of the car and shut the door behind him. "Good luck, Bee. Don't get pulled over or anything."

"I will try not to." The Camaro turned on its windshield wipers, scraping the bits of leaves and twigs away, backed out of the driveway, and soon disappeared from sight. Sam stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind full of questions that desperately needed answers. He finally turned toward the house, careful not to disturb his father's (re-grown) lawn, and sighed as he slumped in through the front door.

The television was on, broadcasting the local news and weather reports, and Sam could hear the familiar hum of activity in the kitchen. The coffeemaker was on, making its weird gurgling noises; china clinked on the surface of the table; the morning newspaper rustled; Mojo was barking at God knows what. Sam sucked in a deep breath and stepped into the dining room where his mother and father were seated. Simultaneously, they both lowered their sections of the newspaper, both with expressions of worry on their faces. "Mom, Dad… Good morning."

Sam's mother motioned to a third seat at the table. "Sit," she said, her voice sounding weak and concerned. Wordlessly, Sam sunk into the chair, his eyes darting from the uninteresting headlines of the newspaper to a half-empty glass of orange juice. For a moment, there was an awkward silence in which his father took a final sip of coffee and his mother cleared her throat lightly. "Sam," she said at last, her eyes locking with his, "tell us what's going on."

"What do you mean?" It was an incredibly stupid question, Sam realized. _Even Helen fuckin' Keller would be able to tell something's wrong, and she died, like, two hundred years ago. _

"We're worried about you," his mother said. "And we know something is amiss."

_Start out with the obvious_, Sam told himself. He bit his lower lip, thinking of how to phrase what he must say; realizing it was the second time in a span of less than a day that he was taken off-guard and told to fess up. "For all intents and purposes," he grumbled sullenly, his eyes locked on the surface of the table, "Mikaela and I have broken up."

"You _what?_" It was the first time his father had spoken to him that morning, and it was in the form of a loud and surprised outburst.

Sam's mother had a gentler take. "Oh, Sam, honey, what happened?"

"Sam, she was like a _model _–"

"You didn't catch her cheating on you, did you? She seemed like such a nice girl."

"Sam, the rest of the male population would have _killed _to have her as their girlfriend –"

"Stop," Sam said loudly, interrupting his parents' separate laments. "Just…_stop_. Yes, our relationship looks like it's over. It's not coming back. She didn't cheat on me, Mom, it wasn't anything like that. It's just…"

"Just what, dear?" his mother asked sadly.

There was no way that Sam would be telling his parents about his love affair with his _car_, let alone _giant alien robot_. He had to make up something on the spot, and he had to do it _fast_. "We were just… too different," Sam said, and it wasn't entirely a lie. "We were going separate ways for weeks, now, and…" his voice trailed off. "I'm sorry."

His mother looked to be on the verge of tears, which was confusing to Sam, as it was obviously _his _problem and not hers; his father, on the other hand, had a crestfallen look that, had the situation not been so depressing, would have been comical. "Oh, Sam," his mother said, "is there anything we can do for you?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine, Mom, really."

"So why'd you spend the night in that _car _of yours, then?" his father demanded sourly. "That storm could've knocked a tree right through the windshield." 

Of course, Sam knew that Bumblebee was tougher than that, but his parents did not. "I needed to be alone," he said, and that wasn't a lie, either. In fact, none of what Sam was saying were lies, just… it wasn't the whole story. And he decided it would be _just fine _to keep it that way. "I was tired, okay?" he said upon seeing the incredulous looks on his parents' faces. "I had a long day, I –" Sam stopped himself again, the memory of getting pulled over suddenly surfacing. He decided that if he was going to tell his parents one solid truth, it would be this. "I got a speeding ticket, okay?"

"You _what?_" This time, it was his mother who looked aghast. This bit of new information, however, seemed to have redeemed Sam somewhat in his father's eyes.

"Ha! How fast were you goin'?" 

"_Ron!_ Sam – a _speeding ticket?_"

"Mom, relax, it's only a few hundred bucks, I – I can pay it off just fine, I promise. The police officer was really nice to me but said it'd be impossible to just let me off with a warning."

"I think you're spending _too _much time with that car," his mother said, and of course, Sam had been expecting an opinion like this (and was frankly quite surprised that it hadn't been voiced earlier). "Going on long drives by yourself… getting speeding tickets – "

"It was only one!"

" – _sleeping_in it, for heaven's sake…"

"It was just once!" But inside, Sam knew that he'd be spending nights in the Camaro much more often. 

"But _Sam_…"

"Judy," his father spoke up, "he's had it rough, alright? Let him think."

"It's unhealthy!"

"He loves that car more than anything else, alright? You can't just take it away – "

"But he's spending time with it like it's his _best friend!_"

Sam sighed, pushed his chair back, and stood. Neither his mother nor his father, still locked in argument over the worth of the Camaro, noticed as he walked away from the table and headed for his bedroom. Sam was halfway up the stairs when he glanced at the wall and saw an old portrait of himself – and he _remembered. _

In the dream he had watched time slowly slide away – had seen himself graduate from high school, move to college, graduate from college, find a job, grow older and older until – until he had died. His funeral had been simple and quiet and everyone had moved on, and the years continued to ebb away. Buildings crumbled, people died, the ocean levels rose then fell. And the more Sam thought about the dream he had had, the more he remembered. He remembered the dull ache of sorrow in his chest and how hopeless everything had seemed. He remembered how the years had been mere hours and how the deaths and decay of everyone and everything else around him hadn't affected him in the least; it had been _Sam _and _Sam's death alone _that had pained him so. 

And then he realized, with a jolt, that he had seen everything from the perspective of Bumblebee. 

Sam nearly tripped on the stairs and soon he was dashing to his bedroom, quietly closing and locking the door behind him. He sat on the edge of his bed, sinking into the cold mattress, his face in his hands and sobs wracking his body. _I need to talk to Bumblebee. _Sam shifted his watery gaze to the digital clock that rested on his nightstand – and groaned in dismay and frustration when he saw that the Autobot wouldn't be back for at least five hours. 

Then, through his tears, more questions than ever pushed their way into Sam's mind. Did Bumblebee feel this way, as Sam had felt in his dream? Was the Autobot only masking his feelings, hell, his _knowledge_ that such events would, in fact, come to pass? How long did Autobots even_live? _What was a human lifespan compared to theirs? _What will Bumblebee do after I die? _Sam flopped face-first onto his bed, crying silently into his pillow. Even though he knew his demise was _decades and decades _away, death had never felt so real, so close. Small victories and minor failures no longer seemed so important anymore. _In the long run, will it even matter? _Sam felt older, much older than a soon-to-be high school senior should ever feel. And it was all because he had seen his life through the eyes of Bumblebee.

* * *

Sam wasn't awoken by the honking of the large GMC pickup truck that was parked in his family's driveway; instead, it was his mother's loud knocking on his bedroom door that finally stirred him from his sleep. For a moment, the boy was very disoriented, as he couldn't recall actually _falling_asleep in the first place. But then he heard the honking outside and the rapping on his door, accompanied by "Sam, there's a_truck _in the driveway, didn't you say you have a friend with a truck? Sam? Sam, _wake up _– "

"Wha –?" Sam launched himself from his bed, took a quick glance at the clock on his nightstand (he was perturbed to find that the time it displayed was _7:13_), then tumbled over a pile of discarded clothes on the floor, finally reaching his window and catching sight of an oversized, black pickup truck that was stationed in the driveway. "Ironhide! What…?" 

"Sam? _Sam!_"

"I'm _coming_, Mom!" He dashed to his bedroom door, unlocked it, and yanked it open. 

Her agitated face was six inches away from his. "There's a truck in our driveway – "

"I know, I see it, that's, um, one of my friends, er, Miles – " 

Sam's mother cringed. "Well, go see what he wants, will you? I'm getting a headache." She started down the stairs, mumbling something that sounded a lot like "_Manners _these days, I _tell _you…"

Meanwhile, Sam rushed to shove his cell phone and wallet into his pockets, confused as to_why _Bumblebee hadn't shown up at four o'clock, and even more confused as to why it was _Ironhide_ that was parked in his driveway. An instant later, he was propelling himself down the stairs, skipping every other step, launching himself out the front door to meet the disguised Autobot. "Ironhide! Why are you here?"

"Well, don't _you_sound pleased to see me," the truck rumbled dryly. It flung open its driver-side door, then commanded, "Get in."

Without any hesitation, Sam complied, taking the big step-up into the cabin of the vehicle. He was so used to how low Bumblebee was to the ground; the unfamiliar height of the truck seemed alien to him. The door slammed shut on its own accord, the engine roared to life, and the truck peeled out of the driveway in a flourish of gravel and dust. Ironhide didn't seem to notice the posted speed limit in the neighborhood – either that, or he chose to ignore it – and Sam hastily buckled himself in, hoping to _Primus _that they wouldn't meet any cops along the way to – to wherever they were headed. "Ironhide – where the hell are we going?"

"Different meeting spot this evening," came the reply. "For reasons you will soon find out."

"Yeah, but – wait, are we in _danger?_"

"There's a good possibility."

As always, Sam had more questions than answers. "Where's Bumblebee?" he demanded angrily. "And does this have to do with the, um, _transmissions_he received overnight?"

"Bumblebee is waiting for you with Optimus Prime and Ratchet," Ironhide replied. "They sent me to retrieve you and _yes_, this has everything to do with the signal that Bumblebee intercepted early this morning."

"I – it's that serious, then?"

"Potentially," Ironhide grunted. "Slagging Decepticon scum…"

"Wait, _what?_"

The truck sighed. "I'm afraid I can't tell you any more, Sam. You'll just have to wait until we get there."

The boy grumbled a few curse words, thoroughly tired of always being left out of the know. "Fine, then. How long does it take to get to this new meeting spot, Ironhide?"

"It's a remote location, just beyond the city limit and at the edge of the desert. If I increase our current speed by one-hundred percent, we'll arrive in – "

"Oh, no, that's okay, really, Ironhide," Sam said quickly, cutting over the Autobot's words. "No more speeding tickets for me." And then he proceeded to explain to the weapons specialist about what had happened the day before – leaving out the part about being in _love_with Bumblebee, of course – and Ironhide found the whole thing to be rather amusing.

"You know, if it had been _me_, I would've just whipped out a cannon or two and told the slagging idiot to move on…" 

Sam snickered, listening to the Autobot's words, and rather appreciated how Ironhide was able to retain his sense of humor, even if the whole lot of them were supposedly in danger. "Bumblebee wasn't about to do that," Sam said, a smile curving his lips. "Nor was he about to take responsibility for speeding, either…"

"Figures," Ironhide replied. "He's a good 'bot, Bumblebee – but ask him about his record as a soldier and you might get a few laughs."

"What do you mean?"

"That is, he's changed drastically since the latest war and when he arrived on your planet, but his willingness to fight hasn't always been that way." Ironhide hummed in thought, took a left turn down a deserted-looking street in a dodgy-looking neighborhood, then said, finally, "Ask him about it, I shouldn't say anything more."

Bumblebee's past was food for thought and it certainly wasn't anything Sam had considered before. He had always imagined the Autobot to be his age (which was, of course, stupid, as Sam knew Bumblebee was years – _eons_ – older than himself) – and had never asked about what life had been like on Cybertron, or how old the 'bot was, or anything of the sort. Sam had a lot to learn and a lot to question Bee about later. 

"He's very loyal to you," Ironhide murmured thoughtfully, his voice interrupting Sam's ponderings. "He cares a lot."

Sam nodded. "I know."

The scenery that flew by was ever-changing. Decrepit neighborhoods morphed into dubious strip malls and desolate gas stations; the pavement of the road became uneven and cracked. Parking lots turned into empty lots overgrown with brush, home to the occasional wreck of an abandoned car, until – the city was behind them, a bright smear of desert stretched out before them, the road an endless black band, not another vehicle in sight. Ironhide plowed ahead, accelerating until the needle on the speedometer brushed past 120. Sam squinted into the blinding rays of the sun, now low in the sky, and something on the horizon caught his eye. 

It was a complex, of sorts; its silhouette resembled several worn cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly next to each other. A few smokestacks protruded from the ensemble, though they issued no steam. As they sped closer, Sam realized it was an old factory, or something of a similar purpose, though long-abandoned and very much derelict. It looked a lot less welcoming than the customary lookout spot, and he found he was less than thrilled to be approaching such a run-down mess. "So – this is where we're meeting, eh?" he asked unnecessarily as Ironhide pulled up next to the largest building in the complex.

"Yes," the Autobot replied, then opened the driver-side door. As soon as Sam had climbed out, the GMC Topkick transformed into his robot form, now towering many feet over the boy. "Follow," Ironhide grunted, and plodded noisily toward the backside of the building.

Sam had to run to keep pace with Ironhide's long strides. They rounded a corner of the dilapidated brick structure, and were greeted with the colorful sight of Bumblebee, Optimus Prime, and Ratchet, all seemingly deep in conversation. The yellow Autobot glanced up and over toward Sam, and gave him a small nod. 

Ratchet and Optimus turned their way as well. "Ironhide, Sam," the leader said, "good to see you arrived in one piece…"

"Prime – " Ironhide began, but Optimus interrupted him. 

"Where is Mikaela?" he rumbled. "I asked you to deliver her to this place, as well."

"I was just about to inform you that Miss Banes refused to join us," Ironhide said, sounding rather scornful. Sam frowned, and wondered if it was_his _fault that she had turned her back on the Autobots. "And that is the reason why we are late," the weapons specialist continued. "I tried to convince her, but – ah – I knew using force was out of the question…"

"As it always is, Ironhide," Optimus Prime said grudgingly. "Sam?"

"Huh?" Sam jumped back to reality, though he hadn't been aware he'd been daydreaming in the first place. 

"Do you know why Mikaela has decided not to join us this evening?" Optimus asked, not sounding angry, just… surprised.

"Oh, um…" Sam thought for a moment. "Well, you see – we kinda… broke up."

"Broke up?" 

"Yeah, yesterday."

Both Ratchet and Optimus seemed to be scanning what was most likely the internet for the exact meaning of the phrase – and a moment later, the medic said, "They have severed their ties, Prime."

Optimus' optics flickered, and he turned back toward Sam. "Is it not possible for her to still meet with us?"

The boy shrugged, his gaze downcast toward the pebbly ground. "Look, we – Optimus, she probably never wants to talk to me again." Sam could tell the leader of the Autobots was about to ask _why_, exactly, and he quickly added, "I'll explain it to you later, okay? It's not important. What's going on? Where are Lennox and Epps?"

"They are currently alerting your government about a possible crisis – "

"So tell _me_ already!" Sam snarled. "I've been left in the dark ever since this morning! Everyone's so goddamned _secretive _about stuff and I have a _right to know!_"

"He's right," Ironhide said from his place beside the boy. "Your anger is completely justified, Sam."

"Then I suppose we should explain what's going on." Optimus heaved an exasperated, metallic-sounding sigh. "Early this morning, three o'clock local time, Bumblebee received a transmission that was directed solely to him – none of the other Autobots received such signals. The message, apparently, was sent from the Decepticon Starscream. As you know, Sam, we were not able to locate him after the battle – it is of our suspicion that he might have aided in the destruction of Megatron and the other Decepticons before fleeing the planet."

"So? He's good, then."

Ratchet made a noise that sounded like a nervous chuckle. "Well, no – Starscream is a treacherous lump of slag. In the past, he never hesitated to betray Megatron. Thought himself to be a better leader, more fit to rule the Decepticons."

Sam blinked. "Oh. So what you're saying, Ratchet, is that this idiot's _worse _than Megatron?"

"Not worse, per se," the medic replied thoughtfully. "Starscream is not as powerful as Megatron was. He is more cunning, but equally cruel. With the Decepticons currently suffering from the loss of their leader, they will look up to Starscream as their new ruler."

"He has an overblown ego, though, _that's _for sure," Ironhide grumbled, and the rest of the Autobots nodded in agreement.

Bumblebee, however, was silent, and Sam found this most curious, as it was _Bee _who had intercepted the transmission, and not the others. "So, Bee," Sam ventured warily, "what'd he say in this signal?"

The yellow Autobot turned toward the boy, as if to speak, but Optimus spoke first. "Starscream told Bumblebee that he was gathering a fleet, if you will, of remnant Decepticons, in an effort to attack Earth."

"The usual drivel that comes from Starscream," Ironhide said.

"Ironhide seems to think that it's only a ruse," Optimus explained. "And his suspicions are founded, as the Decepticons have always been deceitful in the past."

Frowning, Sam considered the situation. "But the Allspark has been destroyed, right? Why the hell would they want to attack Earth? There really isn't anything here that would interest them."

"That's the problem," Optimus said. "We don't know _why_ Starscream would want to lead the Decepticons back to this planet. We have not detected any natural resources that would be useful to them, and can only assume that such a mission would be for the sake of revenge."

"But you said he hated Megatron – "

"Oh, not for killing Megatron," Ratchet said. "You know that the Autobots and the Decepticons have been at each others throats for eons. This is no different. The feuding will continue as it always has."

"They are also coming to retrieve one of their own." It was Bumblebee who had spoken, and all eyes and optics turned toward the small, yellow Autobot.

"What?" Optimus Prime took a step toward Bumblebee, as if the news surprised him. Sam figured that Bumblebee hadn't revealed everything, as his comrades had thought, and had waited for _everyone_ to be there – Sam included – to divulge this last bit of information. 

"In the transmission, Starscream reminded me that there was a Decepticon still on Earth, sitting in what he called a _human slag heap_," Bumblebee explained. "Barricade was left for dead at a junkyard."

There was an uncomfortable silence among the Autobots; no one spoke and the only sound to be heard was the whirring of servomotors and the clacking of gears. Sam glanced from Bumblebee to Optimus Prime, then back to Bumblebee again. There were _so _many things plaguing his mind, he felt his head would explode – and this newest turn of events had made the situation so much worse. _Maybe I _was_ better off not knowing the bigger picture_. 

Finally, Optimus spoke. "Perhaps this threat is not so transparent, after all." 

The meeting stretched on and on into the evening, and Sam began to worry that he wouldn't get home until well past his curfew. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, smearing the sky with a scarlet hue, when Optimus announced that the Autobots – Sam included – would reconvene the next evening. This was a relief to Sam, as he desperately wanted to speak to both Optimus _and _Bumblebee (and certainly not both of them at the same time). The leader of the Autobots was just about to take Ironhide aside in conversation when Sam said, "I need to talk to you."

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**Songs used:**

Hair, Good Morning, Starshine

**A/N:** Okay, the other author's note. Mikaela will be making an appearance very soon, I promise. Like I said, I wanted to include sooo much more in this chapter, but I found a good (if not infuriating) stopping point. Secondly, I have not read the pre-movie comic that sets up a background for Bumblebee and the rest of the 'bots, so I'm kind of basing some things off the G1 universe. Maybe. lol. Thirdly, I apologize for the near-absence of Bumblebee in this chapter, but things will be explained with my next update… Actually, lots of things will be explained. And this story will really get rolling!

Again, thanks for reading and being such a great audience (I'm loving your reviews)!

Much love,

mo


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So, I've finally got a title for this story! Believe it or not, this chapter was supposed to be even longer than it is now. A lot more was supposed to happen, and I apologize that some things have been put off until the next chapter… gah, I'm sorry! I didn't want to keep my readers waiting, and I thought that where it ends now is kind of a good stopping point, etc., etc. So, yeah – still, anyway, I think this is a halfway decent chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I regret to announce that I don't own them. Le sigh.

* * *

**Insignificance: Chapter Four**

* * *

Optimus Prime did not seem surprised to see Sam standing before him, arms crossed over his chest, an agitated expression masking his features. The leader of the Autobots turned to Ironhide, rumbled something to him in their native Cybertronian language, then returned his optics to the boy at his feet. "Yes, Sam?"

"I need to talk to you," he repeated. "Alone."

"I thought you might have some questions," Optimus said carefully. "I apologize for not telling you everything right away." Slowly, the two of them wandered away from the rest of the Autobots, rounding a corner of the brick factory building and finally stopping in the cracked asphalt of an empty parking lot. 

Sam sat on a chunk of concrete, rested his elbows on his knees, and sighed. "It's been one hell of a past two days," he grumbled, watching the last of the watercolor hues fade from the evening sky. "I'm not sure if today has been worse than yesterday. It's close. And today isn't even _over _yet, so it's still got plenty of time to take the title of _worst day ever_."

"What is troubling you, Sam?" Optimus stood several feet away, his blue optics also turned to the last light of the sunset. 

"Everything," was the cryptic reply. 

"Start from the beginning."

Sam shook his head. "I don't want you to play the part of the psychiatrist. I just… there's a lot of stuff that I've got to get off my chest, Optimus. I think I might explode if I don't talk to someone."

"It's about you and Bumblebee, isn't it?" The Autobot's voice was steady and neutral, but he didn't turn his stare from the horizon.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it is. Bee said he told you about it, months ago."

"He did," Optimus replied. "Bumblebee was chosen to find you and protect you. He was assigned to be your guardian and at the time I thought that that would be the extent of your relationship." He turned to face Sam. "Bumblebee confided in me not long after he found you that _you _were the one. Of course, at the time I thought his feelings were foolhardy. It didn't make sense to me – a Cybertronian and a human, showing affection for one another. I told him that they were feelings you would never reciprocate."

The boy sighed and stared at the blackening ground, but said nothing.

"Apparently, I was wrong."

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam said, his voice sounding small and weak. "I think I knew it all along – you know, at a subconscious level – that we had something going. It didn't really hit me until yesterday."

"I will not approve or disapprove of it," Optimus said, his optics again wandering back to the darkening desert horizon. "It is your business, and yours alone. I cannot influence you one way or another, and I do not wish to. Just remember, Sam – the life of a Cybertronian is longer – _considerably _longer – than that of any flesh-and-blood creature. Most of us assembled here tonight are older than the _modern_ _human race_. Take our lifespan into consideration with this relationship, Sam. By Cybertronian standards, Bumblebee is young… but he will still be alive, hundreds of thousands of years after you have passed. We were never meant to bond with life forms of such ephemeral existence. It has happened before, but as time moves on…" Optimus' voice faded away as he became lost in his own thoughts.

Sam's consciousness, too, was consumed by his brooding, and he remembered the dream he'd experienced overnight, while sleeping inside the Camaro. _That's how Bumblebee will live after I'm gone – always with a heavy ache in his spark, always mourning. _He shifted uncomfortably on the chunk of concrete; the air was growing cold now that the sun had set, and soon the stars would show themselves. 

Optimus spoke in the semi-darkness. "Is this why you and Mikaela… _broke up?_" The way the Autobot used the phrase was awkward, sounding much like a child pronouncing a new word for the first time. 

"Yeah," Sam grunted. "Yesterday, she confronted me about it. She was suspicious… I think she _knew_. And she was so disappointed – so disgusted – so _hurt_ – she ended it, right there. I need to talk to her."

"You need to talk to a lot of people, it seems, human and Autobot alike."

The boy sighed. "I know. I wish I could convince her to at least _talk _to me again – not that I've spoken to her since yesterday – but why she'd even want to _look _my way again…" Sam broke off and glanced to the sky; it was a deepening blue, though the line of the horizon remained a yellowish color that steadily blended into the sapphire of the heavens. His eyes searched for stars and faraway planets, and he realized that several months ago, before this huge fiasco, before any of this had ever happened, he never would have imagined life forms such as _these _– the Autobots and the Decepticons – to be out there, fighting in the galaxy. "I guess it all seems so insignificant, now," Sam murmured at last.

"In retrospect, many things are."

Some silence, then, "Optimus, are we gonna be alright?"

The Autobot considered the question for a moment, his blue optics flickering in the darkness. "Time will tell, Sam. Do not dwell on the new threats that have arisen. There is a time and place for that. Now is not that time, nor is here the place."

* * *

Sam made his way back around the dark silhouette of the building, walking silently behind Optimus Prime's plodding steps. They returned to the scene of the original meeting, where Ratchet and Ironhide were engaged in deep conversation, sometimes speaking in Cybertronian, and sometimes in English, gesticulating with hand motions they had undoubtedly learned during their stay on Planet Earth. Sam could swear he heard the name_Jazz _mentioned several times in their dialogue, though he couldn't be sure and assumed it was just wishful thinking. Some distance away sat Bumblebee, solitary, in his Camaro form, his headlights turned on, casting circles of yellow light on the pebbly ground. 

_Why's he all alone like that? _Sam wondered with a distressed frown. _Dammit, Bee… _The boy bid goodnight to the other Autobots, then set for the Camaro at a slow trot. It was _well _past his curfew, but Sam figured that it just didn't matter anymore. What difference would it make? As Optimus had confirmed, many things were trivial, insignificant… And breaking curfew was one of them. 

Sam neared the sports car and noticed how its yellow color was dulled in the darkness. It was extraordinary, really, how the appearance of things could change so drastically at night. Bumblebee hummed to life, revving his engine as the boy stroked the hood of the Camaro, his fingers following the black racing stripes. "Hey, Bee," he murmured lamely, not sure of what else to say. "Sorry for taking so long – had to talk to Optimus and stuff."

"I know," the car replied. "There's no need to apologize." And that said, the driver-side door whipped open, and Sam could just hear the words of an angst-ridden power ballad crooning from the radio. He was about to ask Bee _why _he was playing such a melancholy choice of music, but the Autobot quickly shut it off, replacing it with the much more upbeat, "_Hey, well, I'm the friendly stranger in the black sedan, oh, won't you hop inside my car…_"

Sam couldn't help but smile a little as he climbed into the driver-side seat and pulled the door shut. He buckled the seatbelt around himself and said, softly, "Nice song, Bee."

The car purred contentedly at Sam's words, then rolled back out onto the deserted road. "_I'm your vehicle baby, I'll take you anywhere you wanna go, I'm your vehicle woman, by now you surely know – that I love ya, I need ya, I want to, got to have you, child…_" 

The song seemed out of place to Sam; it was far too jovial after hearing what Optimus had said, too carefree, too forced. The boy sighed, and looked longingly out the window as they accelerated down the empty byway. "Hey, Bee?"

"Yes?"

"Can you roll down your windows? I wanna feel the wind." It must have seemed like an odd request, but there it was. It was too cold for air conditioning and too warm for anything else, and the feeling of the breeze hitting his face was one of Sam's favorite sensations. It was thrilling, and it tasted like freedom and liberation and _getting away from it all_. Bumblebee complied, and Sam sighed again, this time content, the cool air striking his face as he leaned back into the seat. "Thank you, Bee."

"You seem preoccupied," the Autobot said, the volume of his voice raised so that Sam could hear it over the howling wind.

His eyes closed, a vague smile crossed Sam's features. "So do you."

"Yes," was the reply. "Perhaps we all are."

Sam nodded and murmured, "I realized today that there are so many things –_so _many things – that I've never asked you about, stuff that's never occurred to me. I've made _so _many assumptions, looking at things from only my point of view, never thinking about the long-term impact my actions will make."

"Did your talk with Optimus trigger these feelings?" Bumblebee asked, his voice cutting over the music that was currently humming on the radio: "_Let me run with you tonight, I'll take you on a moonlight ride… There's someone I used to see, but she don't give a damn for me…_"

Sam thought for a moment, letting the sound of the desert wind and the rock 'n' roll harmonica fill his thoughts. "In a way. He certainly put a new perspective on some things. But I've had so much time to think about stuff, lately. And there was that _dream_, Bee – I remembered it."

"The dream you experienced last night?"

"Yeah," he said. "I saw myself grow up – and live…"

"And die," Bumblebee finished. "And you witnessed the rest of humanity move on and crumble."

"Y-yes," Sam said, bewildered. "That's exactly what happened! Bee, how did you _know?_"

The car sighed. "It wasn't _exactly _a dream, Sam. Not a real one, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Forgive me," the Autobot said, sounding hesitant, _guilty_, almost. "I projected the images into your mind – using a wavelength that your brain would recognize and turn into a dream sequence. It only works at extremely short distances, when the receiving person is relaxed."

Sam blinked. "Why, Bee? It was so _sad!_ I saw everything from _your_perspective! Is _that_ how you feel? Is that your way of telling me you've got second thoughts about the whole thing? Because, really, if you're feeling that shitty about it all, we can call it off –"

"No, Sam," Bumblebee said. "Though I will suffer greatly when your time comes to an end, nothing can compare to what I feel between us now. No amount of sorrow that I may and will experience in the future will rival how good it is to be here, with you."

Shocked and humbled beyond belief, unexpected tears rushed to Sam's eyes. He had so many other questions jabbing at his mind, but at the moment, nothing mattered more to him than what Bumblebee had just said. He wrapped his arms around the Camaro's steering wheel, hugging it against his chest, small sobs quaking his body. "I – oh, God, Bee, I had no idea – you have no clue how much I appreciate it – " His words became unintelligible as more tears ran down his face, but finally, Sam was able to choke out, "God, I love you."

The engine of the Camaro roared in approval, enough to mask Tom Petty's words, "_You don't know how it feels, no, you don't know how it feels… to be me…_"

* * *

It was a full hour before Sam and Bumblebee finally rolled into his family's driveway. On the way home, they had discussed all the questions Sam's sleepy mind could conjure – what Cybertron had looked like (Bumblebee said that his home planet had been vastly different from Earth; mechanical and sharp, not resembling the organic forms of Sam's planet), the lifespan of Cybertronians (hundreds of thousands, millions of Earth-years, provided they weren't killed in battle), and if Bumblebee missed his home and his long-gone friends ("I do, but Earth has become a suitable substitute."). 

Sam unbuckled his seatbelt as Bumblebee shut his engine off, and for a moment, there was a warm, comfortable silence. The digital clock on the Camaro's console read _12:34 _and Sam was surprised that it wasn't later. The windows in his house were still lit brightly, and the boy could only imagine the shitstorm that waited for him inside. Quite frankly, he was surprised his mother hadn't called the police, but maybe his father had talked some sense into her… Either that, or they were waiting, all sorts of punishments and groundings filling their minds, waiting until he stepped through that front door…

"Bee, I'm sorry – I really shouldn't stay with you tonight. My mom and dad would flay me…"

"I know," the car replied. "I understand. There is much to be worked out between you and your parents – much they cannot comprehend."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'm already on their shit-list for breaking it off with Mikaela and ignoring curfew for the past few nights… Not to mention the fact my mom thinks I spend an unhealthy amount of time with you." The boy sighed, stroked the leather upholstery of the passenger-side seat, and said, "I better go. It's been really good talking to you tonight, Bee."

"Never hesitate to ask me any questions, Sam."

"Believe me, I won't," he replied. "There's plenty more stuff I need to ask about, but now just isn't a good time." Sam opened the door, stepped out of the car, and watched it close with a soft _thunk_by itself. "I don't want to leave you here by yourself in the driveway, but…" His voice trailed off, then a sudden smile touched his face as a new idea occurred. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow! I've got the perfect idea. You won't be disappointed."

"What is it?" The Autobot definitely sounded intrigued.

Sam smirked, beginning his walk to the front door of his home. "It's a surprise, Bee! You'll be the envy of all the other 'bots at tomorrow's meeting, though. Have a good night!"

"Same to you."

And then Sam made his way up the front porch steps, his hand grasping the door handle, preparing himself for what would most likely be a barrage of questions, accusations, and no doubt yelling.

The first thing Sam saw when he opened the door was his mother's face, inches away from his own, a look of relief washing over her features. Behind her, Sam caught a glimpse of his father – though all views were blocked from sight when his mother brought him into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh,_Sam!_" she shrieked, finally letting him go and steering him into the living room.

Sam goggled at her. "What's the occasion?"

"Sam, we were so_worried_ – "

"Mom, I've broken curfew before – "

She shook her head. "No, not since we'd known you'd ended it with Mikaela. Oh, I was so afraid you'd gone off and done something _stupid_, like commit suicide or something – "

"_What?!_" Sam said, incredulous. 

"Of course," she said, her face suddenly taking on a stony expression, "your_father _here thought you'd gone back to Mikaela's house and_made up _with her, and spent the _night _there…"

"What?!" Sam couldn't believe his ears. Behind his mother, his father's sheepish smile slipped into a disappointed scowl. "Mom, it's been_nothing_ like that – "

"Oh, Sam, we couldn't help but worry…"

His father stepped forward. "So then, son, what _were _you doing?"

It was hard, but Sam somehow resisted the urge to spit _none of your business, besides maybe saving your asses_. Without hesitation, he murmured, "I was out for a drive and lost track of time."

"Out for a _drive? Lost track _of time?" his father sputtered.

"That's exactly what I said," Sam grumbled. "And I'm sorry."

"Sam, there's so many _other _things for you to be doing!" his mother scolded. "Spend time with, oh, I don't know, your _family? _Or your _friends?_"

"Your mother's right, Sam – you're obsessed with that car. I think we need to limit the time you spend with it."

Sam shook his head and said calmly, "You can't do that. You don't understand. And, really, I don't expect you to."

His mother looked aghast at these words. "And just what is _that _supposed to mean?"

"There are things out there, bigger than what you can imagine. Stuff you and I can't control." Sam couldn't believe what he was saying – and, obviously, neither could his parents. They were both staring at him as if he had suddenly grown another set of eyes; they stood there, arms crossed, dubious expressions on their faces, eyebrows cocked. _They think I'm insane_, Sam thought. _This is just great. _And yet, he couldn't stop himself from continuing, his voice growing more forceful and strong: "This is important, more important than you'll ever understand. It's not just some stupid boy_breaking curfew _to joyride in his car. You can ground me, if you'd like. The most it'll be is symbolic."

Shocked silence was the only thing to answer Sam. He knew how ridiculous he must sound, and if the expressions on his parents' faces were any indication, he sounded _extremely _ridiculous. 

"You don't understand how _insignificant _stuff is. And how – how fragile." Sam pushed past his parents and headed for the stairs. "I've had a crappy day. I'm going to sleep."

"Sam," his father said, frowning in a disappointed way, "don't be surprised to wake up in the morning and find that car gone."

"I'd like to see you try and tow it away," Sam grunted, and disappeared up the stairs, closing the door to his bedroom behind him. It probably wasn't the best idea, he knew, to leave his parents angry and befuddled, but he just _couldn't help it_. There was no way he'd attempt to explain everything to them; like everyone else, his parents had believed the government lie that the damage to the city a few months earlier had been the result of terrorist attacks, not the battling of giant alien robots. They would never believe him if he told the truth, and even if they _saw _Bumblebee transform in front of them, Sam was pretty sure his parents' reaction to the whole thing would be very poor. 

He wasn't sure why – maybe it was just an overload of information and emotion he'd experienced in the past few hours – but Sam was tired despite the fact he'd slept for much of the day. He pressed his face to the cool glass of his window, and there, in the backyard, he could just make out the dark silhouette of the Camaro, stationed below his bedroom,_guarding. _Sam sighed, feeling a warmth inside for Bumblebee's gesture. He knew that the Camaro would be back in the driveway by dawn, as to not be seen in such a peculiar spot. For a passing moment, Sam considered warning Bumblebee about the threat to have him towed in the morning, but he decided otherwise, knowing the Autobot would be perfectly capable of handling the situation. _And besides_, Sam thought with a bit of a smirk, _it'll be amusing as hell to see them try and take Bee away._

* * *

Somehow, Sam was able to will himself from his sleep, his eyes finding the alarm clock next to his bed that told him 8:23 was _way _too early to be waking up at on a summer's day. Nevertheless, there were _things _to do, and an undoubtable comedy to witness in the driveway. He pulled himself out of his tangled sheets, tiptoed to the bathroom across the hall, and took the quickest shower of his life, hoping to Primus that the tow truck hadn't arrived yet. His hair sopping wet and a towel thrown around his waist, Sam raced back to his bedroom, threw on the nearest clothes he could find (they were, of course, in a pile on the floor), and shuffled down the stairs. 

His mother was pouring coffee in the kitchen. "Good morning, Mom," Sam said, sounding so cheerful his mother stared.

"Goodness, Sam – what are you doing up so early?"

Sam shrugged and glanced out the window, his eyes landing on the driveway where Bumblebee was still parked. "Oh, I dunno. It's a beautiful day. Might as well enjoy it to the fullest, huh?"

She shook her head and resumed her serving of the coffee. "That nice attitude isn't going to work, honey. Your father has already called a tow truck – he's decided that it'll do you good to keep that car in storage for a little while."

"When's it supposed to arrive?" Sam asked, sounding much too calm for his own good.

His mother craned her neck, looking over his shoulder. "Well – that's the truck pulling into the driveway right now." She gave Sam a steely look and added, "Since you're so attached to that car, why don't you go out there and see it off?"

Sam smirked. "I think I will." And with that, he walked to the front door, yanked it open, and sat on the porch step, watching with interest as the tow truck driver attempted to open the Camaro's driver-side door. The man looked extremely perplexed as he pulled again and again on the handle, and it dawned on Sam that Bee had unlocked his doors, but refused to grant the truck driver access. Sam stifled a laugh, climbed back to his feet, and strolled down the path to meet up with his father. "Good morning, Dad," he said, still sounding far too jovial given the current situation.

"Sam," his father responded gruffly, apparently in awe that his son was both awake and not throwing a fit. "Your – your car, here, it doesn't want to open up."

"I see that," Sam replied, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the non-progress of the truck driver. "Doors unlocked?"

"Yeah," his father replied, his voice with an edge to it. "Gordon here needs to put your car in neutral, see, so he can tow it to storage."

"Ah," Sam replied. "Well – let me see what I can do." He left his father's side and walked up to Bumblebee, carefully running a hand over the yellow-and-black hood. "I can get it," he said to the tow truck driver, and he trailed his fingers over the driver-side door, finally reaching the handle.

"I've been tryin' for the last five minutes," the man replied, sounding exasperated. "The thing ain't gonna move."

"Huh, that's interesting, because – " And at Sam's touch, the door swung open.

Both Sam's father and Gordon the tow truck driver stared.

"And – well, I suppose you want me to put it in neutral, then?" Sam asked, taking a seat behind the steering wheel. As quietly as he could, he whispered, "Start up, Bee – you know what to do." Beneath him, the Camaro hummed to life, purring in the affirmative. Sam grasped the gearshift, pulled it to neutral, and stepped out of the car. "He's all yours, then," the boy said to the tow truck driver. 

"You call your car a _he?_" the man asked, obviously surprised.

Sam didn't think it was all that weird and was frankly confused as to why anyone would call their automobile a _he _or a _she _in the first place, unless it was, in fact, a giant alien robot in disguise. "That car look girly to you?" he asked defensively.

"No, but…" Gordon shrugged. "To each his own." He shuffled back to the tow truck, pulled down a hook that was connected to the industrial-strength cords, and attached the rig to someplace beneath Bumblebee's front bumper – the front axel, Sam figured. He noticed the car twitched and hoped the movement wasn't a reaction to pain. Satisfied, the man climbed into the cabin of his vehicle, slammed the door shut, and pressed a button that was, most likely, supposed to wind the chains and therefore drag the front end of the Camaro onto the bed of the tow truck.

Only the yellow Chevrolet didn't budge. The cords tightened, straining against the pressure between the tow truck and the Camaro; metal groaned and creaked in complaint; the cords became so taught they quivered menacingly, until – 

There was a deafening snap. When Sam opened his eyes, the cords – what was left of them – hung limply from the back of the tow truck, and Bumblebee sat in the same place, undisturbed, content. It took a lot of willpower, but somehow Sam fought the urge to burst out in laughter. Gordon was stepping out of the tow truck's cabin, spewing a storm of swear words; Sam's father stood there, rooted to the spot, his stare darting back and forth between the unmoved Camaro and the shredded tow cords. 

"_That's_ interesting." It was all Sam could say; he knew that if he opened his mouth again, laughter would most certainly spill out and now was _definitely_ not the ideal time. 

Three minutes later, the tow truck was peeling out of the driveway with a very agitated Gordon behind the wheel, while a bewildered Ron Witwicky was still gaping at the yellow Camaro that was parked happily before him. "Sam – your car…"

"I guess he really didn't want to leave, huh?" Sam trotted over to the Camaro, crouched down, and grinned giddily at its headlights. 

His father shook his head, still very confused, and muttered, "I need to go and_think_."

"You do that," Sam replied vaguely, his thoughts already gravitating toward a certain pile of hoses, sponges, soap, and buckets that was stashed somewhere in the garage. "Bumblebee," the boy said as soon as his father was out of earshot, "open up the trunk, we're gonna go for a little drive and then we're gonna have _fun_."

The Autobot complied, then said, amused, "That whole episode was very delightful, Sam."

The boy smirked. "I thought you might think so. I was gonna warn you about it all beforehand, but decided that you might appreciate the surprise."

The Camaro bobbed on its shocks, in an apparent nod of agreement. "I would say that this morning, you succeeded in angering a completely innocent tow truck driver. You can check that off from your list of things to do in life."

Sam snorted with laughter. "Thanks, Bee." The boy disappeared into the garage, and returned a minute later, his hands laden with many things. Bumblebee was able to discern a hose and several plastic, red buckets before Sam unceremoniously dumped the objects into the small trunk of the car. He left and returned again, this time holding a couple bottles and a stack of rags and sponges. These, too, were deposited into the trunk, which Sam finally slammed shut.

"May I inquire…?"

"Guess, Bee," Sam said, barely able to contain his glee. 

"You're going to give me a wash, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh," was the reply. Sam climbed into the Camaro, shut the door, and added, as an afterthought, "You'll love it. I think."

* * *

_I hate to admit it, but it's actually _nice _to be waking up so early in the morning. _Sam sighed happily, the warm breeze gusting against his face, glad to have last night's events pushed temporarily from his mind. He leaned back further into the car seat, one hand resting idly on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift, his thoughts wandering. There were certain parts of his car's inner workings – its anatomy – that made Sam blush now that he knew Bumblebee had been in love with him since they had met. The gearshift was one of these mechanisms, and even though, days before, Sam had finally admitted to _himself_ that he loved the Autobot and the Camaro it became, he was still hesitant to _touch _that particular part of the car, not feeling it was a proper thing to do, knowing that Bumblebee experienced pleasure every time. 

Mentally, Sam laughed at himself. He was in a situation that was worthy of some horrible television show – like _Dr. Phil _or _Oprah_ or, even better, _Jerry Springer. _In fact, he was pretty sure his particular case transcended all the rest of the drivel that aired daily on those programs. Being infatuated with a giant alien robot who turned into a car_ had_ to be worse than smitten cousins or brothers and sisters sharing more than a sibling love. Maybe one day, Sam thought with a bitter smile, when the rest of Earth knew about the presence of the Autobots and Decepticons – maybe _he_would be the one walking on to the set of the _Jerry Springer Show_, Bumblebee's hulking form following, to discuss their taboo relationship. 

The image attached to this thought was so ridiculous Sam found himself snickering aloud.

"Something's funny," Bumblebee observed. "Are you going to share?"

Sam shook his head, a smile still plastered to his face. "No – no, I'd better not. That's something about human minds, Bee, that I'm sure you've discovered through the internet – we think and do a lot of useless and pointless stuff, and we find the dumbest things to be amusing." He tapped on his cranium, and added, "there's a lot of empty space in here, Bee."

"That was one of the first things I discovered about your race," the Autobot hummed, "when I accessed YouTube."

Sam snorted in laughter.

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**Songs used:**

Bo Bice, Vehicle

Tom Petty, You Don't Know How It Feels

**A/N:** There ya are, Chapter Four! I promise – on my life – that we will see Mikaela in the next chapter. And, of course, a car wash. And more Autobots. Promise! And thanks to all my wonderful readers and reviewers – seriously, you guys and gals are awesome and are full of win. I'm so glad you are all enjoying this story.

mo


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So… When I first started writing this fanfic, I was traveling in a car to New York, bored, and with nothing better to do. I never intended for this to be any longer than a one-shot deal, and at the start of it all, the only thing I wanted to feature was Sam giving Bumblebee a carwash. Well… the whole thing has kind of evolved since then, turning into a many-chaptered fic with no end in sight, but – here's that carwash that I've been wanting to write for quite a while!

Also – I am thrilled to have some really great reviewers. You gals and guys seriously rock my socks off and it's so, so wonderful to open my email and see happy comments waiting for me there!

Thirdly (and I promise I'll cut this A/N short, as this chapter's long enough) – I am taking some elements from the G1 cartoon and throwing them in here. It's kind of funny, when I'm writing this, I imagine a sort of cross between the new movie and the old cartoon… it's a very interesting mix, and with some of the Decepticons, all I can really pictures is their animated versions. Ha…

**Warnings:** A carwash. And if there's anything out of character in this chapter, tell me, 'kay?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own! Sadness!

* * *

**Insignificance: Chapter Five**

* * *

Sam was thankful it was a Tuesday morning. Though summer vacation meant freedom to him and countless other teenagers, adults were not spared from the drudgery of the workweek. The lake was almost completely deserted, save for the occasional mother pushing a stroller or college student walking their dog. "Alright, Bee, we need to find somewhere to park," Sam murmured as they rolled along the perimeter of the lake. "I'd like to be near a faucet, or – well, a fire hydrant would be really good."

"Okay."

"Also, being as out of sight as possible from the general public would kind of be nice, too." Sam flushed at these words, and added, quickly, "Well, because, you know, I'll need you to loosen up the spigot a little – so I can attach the hose." Sam tried to ignore how suggestive his words unintentionally sounded; however, he doubted Bumblebee's mind was perverse enough to attach any innuendoes to what he had said.

By some miracle, they were able to find a fire hydrant on the other side of the lake, in a rather sheltered area. Sam – thinking ahead and knowing that any transformation would mangle what was inside the Camaro – removed the car-washing contents from the trunk and stepped back as Bumblebee twisted and unfolded, within seconds becoming a sixteen foot-tall robot.

"Hey, Bee," Sam said with a grin. "Seems like I haven't seen you in 'bot form for _ages_."

The Autobot shrugged. "Last night does feel like a long time ago."

"Alrighty, Bee – damn, I wish I could let you stretch longer, but…" The sound of engines attested to the fact they were extremely close to the road – a thick hedge was all that separated Sam and Bumblebee from the passing cars, and both were well-aware of this.

"It's okay, Sam," Bumblebee replied. "I'll have plenty of time to do so this evening."

Sam had forgotten about the meeting scheduled for that night. Unasked and unanswered questions instantly leapt into his mind, but he pushed them away, instead turning to watch the yellow Autobot loosen one of the spigots on the hydrant. All at once, pressurized water blasted in every direction, drenching both boy and robot. Sam let out a yelp of surprise and delight, managing to yell over the gush of the water, "Not that loose, Bee! Tighten it up! _Tighten it up!_"

Three minutes later, Sam was soaked _beyond_ soaked, his clothes sticking to his body, mentally cursing himself for actually _taking the time _to shower less than an hour before. Bumblebee had, however, succeeded in controlling the flow of water from the fire hydrant, and while Sam griped about how uncomfortable drenched clothes were, the Autobot somehow attached the garden hose to the spigot (Sam later discovered that the bending of metal was involved, which would very much displease the local fire department when they found out).

"Bumblebee, you have _no _idea!" Sam groaned, trying in vain to wring the water from the cuffs his jeans. "Wet denim is the _worst_feeling ever." He thought for a split second then amended, "Well, _one _of the worst feelings ever. You should feel lucky that _you _guys can't get chafed!"

The Autobot chuckled, then folded in on himself, once more becoming a Camaro. "If it's causing you so much discomfort, Sam, why not remove the offending items of clothing?"

Sam doubled over in laughter. "Nice try, Bee," he managed in between gasps. "As liberating as it might be, humans just _don't _go running around _naked_, at least not in public."

"It seemed to be quite popular thirty-five Earth-years ago," Bumblebee countered.

"Yeah, that's because the seventies were a really _special _time in the history of America," the boy responded. "_Every_one streaked back then, at least, that's what my dad tells me…" Sam flicked his gaze down to the hose that was lying in the grass, water spraying forcefully from its nozzle. "Alright, Bee, we're wasting water, and I'm sure the internet tells you that we've kinda got a shortage of it in these parts, so…" He flashed the Camaro the most charming grin he could muster, lifted the hose from the ground, and said, "Enjoy!"

Bumblebee had been taken through a no-touch car wash several times in the months he'd been with Sam. But such impersonal drive-through services were just that – impersonal – and the feeling of the cold water slamming against his metal skin, the jet arcing through the air and splashing against his windshield – Bumblebee's engine thrummed in approval, his sensors begging for more, unable to shake the feeling he was only being _teased. _

A smirk played at Sam's lips as he allowed the spray to drum against the Camaro's wheel wells and hubcaps. Truth be told, the car really _did _need cleaning; the downpour a few days earlier had washed it, temporarily, but after driving through the desert the night before, grit and dust had filled the cavities of the vehicle. The boy walked around the perimeter of the Camaro, flicking the jet of water against the doors and the rear bumper and the taillights, wondering if the sporadic sensations were_ticklish _to the Autobot. Sam could hear Bumblebee's engine whimpering, and this only made his smile grow wider. 

"I know you're eager to get to the scrubbing, Bee," he said with a laugh. "But, come on, I have to _soak _you first…"

"Slag that," the car grumbled in reply. "You _know _you're purposely_taking your time_."

Sam couldn't hide his grin and, directing one final blast of water at the Camaro's grille and Chevrolet logo, he said, "Impatient, are we? Well, fine, then." The boy tossed the still-running hose to the ground, shot a sidelong glance at the disguised Autobot, and peeled the soaked-through t-shirt off from his body.

"Tease," Bumblebee said.

"You know you like it, buddy," Sam grunted, and squatted down to rummage through the car-washing supplies that he had dumped on the ground. He separated two plastic buckets, a sponge, and a bottle of liquid soap from the pile, turned to Bumblebee, and said, as he filled the buckets with water, "Where should I start? You know better than me."

The car shrugged on its shocks. "It doesn't matter, just as long as you _slagging start in the _first _place!_"

Sam chuckled, squirted soap into the buckets, and rounded to the rear of the Camaro. "Uh-huh, Bee, I get it. Sounds like _some_one has a little too much stress in their life."

"This is all your fault," the Autobot grumbled, though he couldn't mask the delight in his voice. "And I suppose _humans _tease each other like this _all _the time?"

"Well, yeah, Bee, they do, actually." Sam's eyes raked over the red taillights and the striped rear spoiler, wondering which to service first.

"That's somewhat reassuring," Bumblebee replied. "I was starting to fear I'd gotten stuck guarding a defective – " His sentence ended abruptly, replaced with a grating mechanical moan: Sam had taken the soapy, sopping sponge and was running it along the length of the Camaro's spoiler. 

"Like that, huh?" the boy asked unnecessarily, for the roaring of Bumblebee's engine told him he already knew the answer quite well. Sam's agile fingers worked the sponge into the hollows of the taillights, dragging it along the rear bumper; he could feel the vibrations of the shuddering Autobot pulse through his body, could sense a tangible current of invisible electricity move through his _soul_ whenever his skin made contact with the metal frame of the car. And the more Sam touched the Camaro, the less he _thought. _Gone were the worries of rogue Decepticons and threats to end the human race; gone were Sam's overprotective parents and disgusted ex-girlfriend. 

He now moved along the side of the car, only vaguely aware he was dragging a bucket of water with him. One hand pushed the sponge against the Camaro's tinted windows; the other idly stroked the canopy of the vehicle, Sam reveling in the surges of – no, it wasn't electricity, it _couldn't_be, or he'd be dead – of _feeling _that washed through his body. The Autobot moaned happily beneath him, its engine rumbling in a building roar of satisfaction. Sam found himself facing the hood of the Camaro, the dripping sponge hanging loosely from his hand, the headlights of the car staring back. 

Before he'd admitted his feelings for Bumblebee, Sam had never really considered a simple_car wash _to be an erotic activity (with the exception, of course, being beautiful, wet, scantily-clad women bending over to scrub windows, a la _Cool Hand Luke_). But now, as he leaned over the hood of the Camaro, his groin and hips hitting the front of the car every time he stretched to reach the windshield, Sam couldn't help but think it was a very sensual action, holding so much more meaning than anything he'd done with Mikaela. He no longer made any effort to avoid touching the hood of his car. As he scrubbed the windshield wipers, much of Sam's torso was plastered against the front of the Camaro, pleasurable rumblings and vibrations pounding his body, that peculiar and arousing _electric _feeling coursing through his veins. A low moan escaped from his throat and that was enough –

Cybertronians were not, as humans so eloquently phrased it, _turned on _by the primitive grinding and thrusting of all-organic beings. Prior to meeting Sam, Bumblebee had scanned the internet and had discovered more than he wanted to know about the mating rituals of the species he would soon be coexisting with; needless to say, the Autobot hadn't been impressed. But that had been before he'd met Sam, before he'd realized he was _more _than attached to the boy, _before _this car wash. And the way the human was pressed against him, heat radiating from his body, bare flesh pressed to his metal skin, fingers dislodging debris from beneath the wiper blades… And the moan that fell from the boy's lips –

A violent shudder ripped through Bumblebee's body, an overload of feelings and emotions slamming his sensors. The Autobot's engine revved to a deafening moan, thoroughly surprising Sam, before dying to a soft purr. The Camaro slumped forward on its shocks, and Sam stood before the car, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

He snickered. "I believe I just witnessed a bot-gasm."

"_Primus_, Sam," the Camaro grumbled, "you know how to kill a moment."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Bee," the boy apologized. "Did you like it?"

"Very much,_obviously_," came the reply. "I'll need to recharge for a while after that."

Sam chuckled and picked up the hose again, water still pouring from its nozzle. "Well, don't get _too _comfortable, Bee – I still gotta rinse you off. You don't want to show up at the meeting tonight covered in_soap stains_, do you?"

"Slag. I guess not." 

And as the cold water showered down upon him again, Bumblebee fought to keep his thoughts focused, away from the pleasure of the rinse, on much more pressing issues at hand.

* * *

The late-morning sun beat relentlessly down upon Sam's half-clothed form. He knew he'd wind up facing a most painful sunburn and a nagging tirade about skin cancer from his mother, but no matter; at the moment he couldn't have cared less. He was stretched out on Bumblebee's hood, shut eyes pointing toward the cloudless sky, enjoying the constant rumble of the engine beneath him. The boy had many questions on his mind, the ones about Bumblebee's past and how the _hell _the Autobot knew about Barricade still dogging his thoughts while new questions – queries about _how _Cybertronians experienced what was akin to sexual pleasure – formed themselves in his brain. Sam was in a half-conscious stupor when he heard Bumblebee speak.

"Sam?"

The boy yawned. "Yeah, Bee?"

"Thank you."

Sam shook his head and laughed softly. "You don't need to thank me, honest."

"It's the proper thing to do," the Autobot replied.

A smile. "I'm not really proper, Bee. And neither are you."

"Still, thank you."

Sam gave in. "You're welcome." He turned his head, eyes still closed, and rested his cheek against the somehow-cooled yellow-and-black hood of the Camaro.

"I love you, Sam."

The boy smiled against the metal and murmured, "Love you, too, Bee." The engine below hummed louder, and Sam sighed contentedly, wondering if such thing as a better morning was possible.

Ten minutes of peaceful silence passed, then: "I _thought _I heard a familiar engine."

It took a split second for the gears in Sam's mind to process the sudden voice, matching it with that of Mikaela. His eyes flew open, he bolted upright – and there, several feet away, an ice cream cone in each hand, stood his ex-girlfriend. "Mikaela – " the boy choked, wishing he had a shirt on and wishing she hadn't happened upon him in such an_obvious _state. "Um – " 

Mikaela shook her head, a strange smile on her lips. "No, Sam, really, don't worry about it. Here, I brought you some ice cream." He accepted the already-melting cone, his eyes locked on her in bewilderment. She crouched down in front of the Camaro, an apologetic look on her face, and added, "Hey, Bee. I guess I should have gotten some ice cream for you, too."

"Good-morning, Mikaela," the Autobot replied. "No ice cream – I would much rather prefer a cube of high-grade energon." 

Sam made a mental note to ask Bumblebee what the hell energon was. "Um, thanks for the ice cream, 'Kaela," he said awkwardly. "What's up?"

Mikaela shrugged her slender shoulders and settled down on the grass beside the Camaro. "Not a lot, I guess. It's a beautiful morning, thought I might get some fresh air. Wanted to get away from home – stuff has gotten kinda hectic. For some reason, the police are investigating my dad again, for an old case he was already cleared from."

"Oh – oh, jeez, that sucks."

"It's been worse. It's just a nuisance, really," Mikaela replied, and licked the side of her ice cream cone, where it was threatening to melt and run down her wrist. She sighed, her eyes met Sam's, and she said, "Hey, I'm sorry about Sunday."

"Huh?"

"I'm apologizing, Sam," she murmured, and patted the grass beside her. "Here, sit down next to me." Sam obliged, and she continued, "I guess I kind of overreacted."

"What – wait, no, Mikaela, _no way_ did you overreact!" Sam stared at her, subconsciously finishing off his ice cream cone, and asked incredulously, "What the hell else were you supposed to do? It's – God, it's a rude shock! _I'm _the one who should be apologizing!"

Mikaela shook her head. "Nope. I'd known it for a few weeks. I was in denial. And it was only when you _confirmed _it that it made me so upset. I felt like _such _a bitch for just leaving you there like that."

Sam found himself laughing. " 'Kaela, I'm in love with _Bumblebee_, for Christ's sake! He's a giant alien robot! A _car! _I _abandoned_ you for him! That's grounds to be arrested or _shot._"

She giggled. "It could be worse, Sam! I don't know how – you'll have to let me think about it for a few days – but it could be worse."

"You're too forgiving."

Mikaela sighed. "Maybe I am, but I can't forget – you and Bumblebee – both of you saved my life, several times. To just – _ditch _you like that… _God_, I was a bitch."

"Well, honestly, Mikaela," Sam countered, "if I'd found out you'd been, um, _seeing _Ironhide or something, my reaction would've been the same…"

The girl shook with silent laughter, then whispered, "Ew, _Sam! Ironhide? _He's like a _bazillion_ years older than Bumblebee, and grouchy as hell, too!" She shook her head. "No, there's no comparison. I mean, yeah, it's a little weird and all, and I'm still hurt by it, but… You and Bee, Sam – there's something special there."

"Well, um, thank you."

Mikaela turned her gaze to the Camaro stationed beside her. "You've been awfully quiet, Bee."

"He might be in a recharge mode right now," Sam said. "His systems got swamped, earlier – " But the boy stopped his explanation when Mikaela shot him a very devilish and accusing grin. "What happened between us was not half as bad as whatever you're imagining right now."

"Uh-huh. I don't even want to know…"

Bumblebee unexpectedly spoke. "Mikaela, I have been absent from the conversation because you and Sam have a lot to work out between yourselves."

"But I _like_ talking with you, Bee," she said.

"I know," the Autobot replied. "But the two of you have far more important things to discuss."

Mikaela heaved a mock sigh. "Oh, _fine_, then." She turned back to Sam. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Yeah – yeah, it is." And then, because he knew he had to – he knew he was _obligated _to – Sam proceeded to tell Mikaela everything that the Autobots had discussed the night before. He explained to her the transmission Bumblebee had received from Starscream, and the not-so-empty threat about the remaining Decepticons seeking revenge. She listened with interest, a frown creasing her eyebrows, until Sam finished with, "We don't know when they'll strike – it could be any day now. We don't know _where_ they're targeting – if it's Mission City, like it was a few months ago – or if it's someplace new, where they can kill more people. Optimus is even a little foggy on what Starscream's motiveis in the _first place_."

"It sounds bad," Mikaela whispered. 

Sam shrugged. "It could very well be. Long story short – there's a meeting tonight, and there'll probably be some new information. Optimus was disappointed you didn't show up last night, so…"

"I guess I should be there this time, huh?"

"Yeah. Only – it's in a different place, now. If you contact Ratchet or Ironhide, one of them could take you there."

Mikaela nodded, and lifted herself from the damp grass. "I will. Of course, this also means I need to make up some excuse to tell my dad, so…" She gave Sam a soft smile. "I need to go. I'll see you tonight?"

Sam nodded as he climbed to his feet. "Sure, Mikaela – yeah."

"See ya, then," she said, her voice sounding strangely awkward.

"Bye." He was unsure whether he should give Mikaela a friends-only hug, or shake her hand, or escort her back to her motorbike – so instead Sam just watched the girl walk away, feeling very relieved and very perturbed at the same time. He turned back to the Camaro and murmured, "That went surprisingly well."

"I told you it would."

"Uh-huh, _sure_you did." He grinned at the disguised Autobot, then announced, "I could go for a few tacos right now, how about you?" 

Bumblebee groaned. He_hated _fast food drive-thrus.

* * *

"So, wait, you're telling me you and your buddies can get _drunk?_" Sam, who was presently holding a beef taco in one hand and steering the Camaro with the other, had just brought up the question of energon and what the hell it was. 

"Yes – that is to say – our systems can be impacted in a way akin to the nature in which alcohol affects the human body. Then again, energon is also our life-force."

Sam struggled not to choke on his food – he was laughing too hard, the mental image of a stumbling and over-rowdy Optimus Prime playing through his brain. "Oh, God, Bee – you have no idea how funny this is. And I suppose there were energon bars on Cybertron?"

"Of course," Bumblebee replied, sounding amused. "The bar fights were legendary…"

Diet cola came dangerously close to spraying out from Sam's nose. Recovering, he asked, "There's no way I'd get the chance to see you blitzed, huh?"

"Theoretically, you could," the Autobot said. "Energon doesn't occur in a natural form. It is produced from already-existing sources of energy – Earth's fossil fuels, oil, for example – then processed into a form that we can ingest. Optimus and Ironhide are working on it, actually, but in a way that won't rob your planet of its already-thin resources."

"If I _ever _have to be a designated driver for a _robot_, I swear that will be the highlight of my life."

"I'll be sure to remember that."

It was past noon and Sam had nowhere he needed to be, no one important to meet. The last place he wanted to end up at was his house, where he would be assaulted by questions of every breed concerning the behavior of his car. Instead, Sam and Bumblebee were cruising along an empty byway into the desert, the afternoon sun bearing down upon them, creating shimmering mirages on the asphalt. They had taken care not to stray too close to the Autobots' new base of operations, for fear of raising suspicion and the ever-present threat of Decepticon spies.

At this thought, a nagging question resurfaced in Sam's mind. "Hey, Bee? I've been meaning to ask you something."

"I'll do my best to answer."

"Well… do you remember last night, how you mentioned Starscream's hint at a Decepticon still left on Earth – and you said it was Barricade?"

"Yes."

"Did Starscream_tell _you that, or did you already know?"

Bumblebee hesitated. "I knew."

Sam finished off his second taco. "Wanna explain?"

"I promised I would answer any question you ever have," the Autobot replied, though he didn't sound very thrilled. 

Sam frowned. He couldn't see why Bumblebee would be so troubled about the whole matter, but that certainly seemed to be the case. "Well – I mean – if you don't wanna talk about it, then you can forget I brought it up…"

"No, it's obvious you've been thinking about this for some time." The car took a sharp turn off the road, rolled along the gravel for a few hundred yards, then stopped in the sparse shade of a lone, skeletal tree. The driver-side door opened, and Sam took this as his cue to climb out of the Camaro before Bumblebee transformed. The boy grabbed his cup of soda, stepped out of the car, and watched as the Autobot unfolded to become his robot form.

"Must be important if you want to talk face-to-face," Sam murmured. He flopped down at the base of the near-dead tree, his back resting against its rough trunk, and took a sip of cola. Bumblebee sat himself beside the boy, his posture looking very human, his optics turned toward the afternoon sun.

"It is. There is something you must understand about Cybertronians," Bumblebee said soberly. "We weren't always divided into the factions we are sorted into now. Until recently – that is, recently by Cybertronian standards – there were no such thing as _Autobots _or_Decepticons_."

"So when was that?" Sam asked. "A thousand years? Ten thousand?"

"Longer… _much_ longer," was the reply. "But that is not the point. I was younger when the war started to gain momentum. Even though I sided with the ideals of the group calling themselves the Autobots, I was reluctant to become a soldier for their cause. I preferred the somewhat-peaceful life I was living. Declaring my allegiance to a particular faction had the potential to alienate me from some of my friends – those who tended to agree with the Decepticon bloc. To preserve friendships, I refused to join the Autobot cause until I was abandoned by those joining the Decepticon side. At that point, the war was in full swing. I had no choice but to become a soldier for Optimus Prime. My former friends were turning against me."

Sam found himself deep in thought, and he subconsciously gnawed on his lower lip. _So this is what Ironhide was talking about when he mentioned Bee's past. _The boy sighed, reclined against the Autobot's metal leg, and murmured, "Was Barricade one of your friends who sided with the Decepticons?"

Bumblebee nodded. "Yes. He was the first Decepticon I tracked once I landed on Earth. I knew he would use you as a way to get to me."

The boy forced himself to smile. "So that jerk really was a friend of yours, way back when? Was he always such a sadistic bastard?"

"No. He had a mean streak to him, yes, but only after joining Megatron's ranks did he become what he is now."

Sam shuddered. Megatron had been horrible and incredibly evil, but Barricade had been even more frightening. Traveling under the disguise of a police car, the Decepticon had stalked and attacked Sam, assaulting him in a way the boy could only describe as a cross between archetypal police brutality (a la Rodney King) and a failed prison rape. If Bumblebee hadn't been there to save his life… Another shudder trickled down Sam's spine. "He was a fucking creep."

Bumblebee seemed to heave a metallic sigh. "Barricade wasn't always that way. Unfortunately, he went bad, in the worst of ways. There are a few exceptions, but they are rare – there's no going back for him."

"What do you mean?"

"Decepticons cannot reverse their ways as readily as an Autobot."

The boy took a moment to think this statement over, his brows furrowing into a frown. _So Autobots can turn bad, but Decepticons can't turn… _ "Bee – did you _talk _to him?"

"Yes," the Autobot admitted. "Several times. Barricade is in a junkyard east of the city. He has been immobilized – his processor is damaged, his systems are destroyed. He tried to transform into his vehicle mode and got stuck halfway."

The only thing that stopped Sam from laughing at this ridiculous visualization was the knowledge that Bumblebee considered the subject at hand to be extremely serious. "So – um – he's not dangerous then? What'd you say to him?"

"For the time being, Barricade is not a threat – that is, not until his comrades return and repair him. In the two months that you and Mikaela spent much of your time together, Barricade sent me several signals – not distress signals, as they were more along the lines of taunts. I sought him out and finally found him dumped amongst a mountain of mangled car bodies."

"Where he belongs," Sam grunted. "The bastard."

"Optimus and Ironhide have sometimes labeled me as naïve," Bumblebee conceded. "This was no different. I wasted my time and tried to talk some sense into Barricade. Of course, I did not succeed. More often than not, he would laugh at me until I left, accusing me of making the wrong decision as far as my allegiances go. Whether that's the way he has always behaved since joining Megatron's ranks, or if his mainframe is severely impacted – it was no use – I admitted defeat. I haven't returned to the junkyard for the past two weeks."

Sam scratched his chin. "Well, _Bee_," he said, as if it was obvious, "why don't you go and finish him off? He's a Decepticon. He's _crippled_ – you could destroy him, no problem."

Bumblebee shook his head. "That is something I cannot do. If Barricade and I again face one another in battle – with no advantage or disadvantage between us – I could fight. There is something so fundamentally_wrong_ about cutting down your opponent when his back is turned, when he is in a weakened state that is not of your doing."

"Oh, come _on_," Sam groaned, looking mutinous. "Quit it with the honor and the morals. He's a fucking _Decepticon_, Bee! He almost _killed_me and Mikaela a few months back! If you got rid of him now, we wouldn't have to worry so much about Starscream and the rest of them – "

"Barricade was a friend, once," the Autobot insisted. "More than a friend. I can_not_ destroy him while he's in this current state."

_More than a friend. _Bumblebee had been intentionally vague, and there was a weird feeling in Sam's stomach, the sensation of rising bile, venomous accusation churning there like a demon yearning to strike. He closed his eyes in an attempt to control the unfounded rage within. A hiss escaped the boy's lips, and finally, "I – I see."

"I know it's a mistake," Bumblebee said, "not dispatching Barricade when I have the perfect opportunity. A magnified sense of compassion is one of my core faults. I was never built to be a soldier."

Sam gawked at the robot seated next to him. "And _that_, Bee, is a load of bullshit."

"What do you mean, Sam?"

The boy shook his head, his eyes briefly meeting Bumblebee's optics before turning his gaze to the empty, snakelike road. "You're perfectly capable of fighting. Maybe that wasn't always the case, but it is now. You're a hell of a soldier. You never gave up, not even when your legs were torn off. The – the five of you were _so _outnumbered, outmatched, even – but Bumblebee, you guys _won_."

"With help from a certain human."

"Doesn't matter," Sam grunted. "I'd call it luck. Can you believe Optimus really expected me to sacrifice him? I took a _huge _chance out there, Bee. It could've been a _complete _disaster."

Bumblebee hummed in thought. "We can agree to disagree."

"Maybe," the boy replied. A vague smile touched his features, and he added, "But I don't want my _guardian robot _to get all mopey and stuff. It doesn't suit you at all, Bee."

"I suppose not."

* * *

"Wait a minute, Ratchet – you mean he's _coming back?_" It was late in the evening, the sky was a blue-black, and the Perseid meteor shower of mid-August was in progress, streaks of light occasionally flashing over the gathering of Autobots and humans. Only Sam didn't care about shooting stars, no matter how awe-inspiring they had been to him as a child – Ratchet had just announced something so improbable, so… _good _that it had made Sam do a double-take. "Jazz is _alive?_"

The medic began to pace in a tight circle. "I'm working on him – Megatron meant business when he tore Jazz in half. This is definitely the most challenging – and delicate – repair that I have had to execute in many, _many _years."

"Does that include the twins, or do they have their own special category?" Ironhide asked, several yards away, his facial components twisted into a smirk. The rest of the Autobots shared a laugh, but Sam didn't get the joke. He decided he'd be sure to ask Bumblebee who these _twins _were, later.

Ratchet turned back to Sam. "To answer your question, Jazz is very close to coming back online – I'd estimate less than a week. Either he'll be a pain in the aft about it, or, less likely, he'll surprise me." 

Though he should have expected it by now, the complexities of the Autobots and the way they interacted with one another never ceased to amaze Sam. Their emotions, their senses of humor, their quirks and inside jokes – aside from their towering heights and mechanical bodies, the Autobots were almost _human_. Perhaps that was why he had fallen for Bumblebee; the Camaro was more human than some of the _people _Sam knew. Bumblebee had his own doubts and secrets, and a unique personality; then again, perhaps the reason why Sam was so attracted to the Autobot was completely the opposite – how _different_Bumblebee was. The boy knew it was an incredibly _weird _kink – to be in love with his car-slash-giant robot guardian – but he could think of worse.

Guiltily, Sam glanced over to Mikaela. She sat on an empty oil drum a few feet away from Optimus Prime, a blanket pulled around her shoulders. It was cold in the desert at night, and she obviously hadn't taken that into consideration when deciding to wear a spaghetti-strap tank top to the meeting. Her eyes met with Sam's, she smiled for an instant, then looked away. The boy sighed, and realized that the topic of the conversation had changed, the focus now centering on the arrival of new Autobots.

"I have received messages from Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, respectively," Optimus said, sounding rather pleased. "They will arrive within forty-eight hours." He turned to Ratchet. "It's your lucky day."

The medic heaved a metallic sigh. "I shall treasure the concept of _peace and quiet_ while it still exists."

"Wheeljack will be joining us, as well," Bumblebee announced from his place beside Sam. "He will have no problem with finding a simple way to process Earth's renewable resources into energon." A rumble of agreement sounded from the other three Autobots.

Something made Sam remember a conversation he'd had with Bumblebee a few days earlier. "What about Arcee?" he blurted out, gaining curious looks from Optimus and Ironhide. "Bee said that she was supposed to show up soon."

Ironhide nodded gravely. "Arcee was supposed to arrive last night. We have not received any signals from her for three days, which is cause for concern."

"Especially for Ironhide," Optimus explained. "She was a student of his, when the war first started. They are rather close."

"I know Arcee's a slagging good fighter, but…" Ironhide sighed. "If she was intercepted by a pack of Decepticons, she – like anyone else – wouldn't stand a chance."

Sam frowned at this news, though he was thoroughly fascinated by the idea that several new friends would soon be joining them. Already he had forgotten the names of those scheduled to arrive, but he knew Bumblebee would be able to provide him with all the information, hell, Sam was sure that the Autobot had plenty of amusing stories involving his comrades to share.

"Do we know which Decepticons are going to attack?" Sam asked.

Optimus nodded. "We have a good idea. Starscream, obviously – since Megatron has been destroyed, it is almost certain that he has named himself the new leader of the Decepticons. The problem is, how many of his kind are willing to follow his leadership? Starscream was never trusted by many of his comrades. It's very likely that his wingmate Skywarp will join, however. They were always close."

Sam balked at this news. "Sky – Sky_warp?_" 

"Yes, Skywarp," Ironhide said, eyeing the canons mounted on his arms menacingly. "Another seeker – a jet, that is. Not the most intelligent 'Con you'll come across. But the lump of slag _can _teleport."

This did nothing to reassure Sam, in fact, the whole _teleportation _thing only made him more uneasy. "So – so one minute, he's there, then he's someplace else, right?"

"That is the idea," Ironhide replied. "The third wingmate – Thundercracker – he wasn't so lucky. I shot him down shortly before we departed for Earth." The weapons specialist then lapsed into his story-telling mode, much to Sam's amusement. Ironhide's tales of the war on Cybertron were dark and violent and fiery, but they painted a picture of a world gone to hell. Sam prayed such a thing would never happen to Earth.

"Thank you for that," Optimus drawled as Ironhide finished, describing in detail the metallic _crunch _Thundercracker had made when striking a building, and the fireball that had erupted from the skyscraper's metal frame. "I fear that one of Megatron's most loyal will also be accompanying Starscream to Earth."

Ironhide narrowed his optics, Ratchet shook his head in dismay, and Bumblebee tensed noticeably. Sam wondered _what _could be worse than two fighter jets who had a leader and a third wingman to avenge.

"Soundwave will be amongst the Decepticons that land on Earth in the coming days," Optimus said, and this seemed to affirm the fears of the other three Autobots. Silence dropped like a heavy cloak around the gathering as Bumblebee, Ratchet, and Ironhide listened to their leader with rapt attention. "With him will be his cassettes."

"Soundwave?" Sam asked. "What the hell is _he?_"

"Someone not to be taken lightly," Bumblebee murmured from beside Sam. "He is a telepath. He can read your thoughts, extract your greatest fears, unearth secrets that you've buried for no one to see." At these words, a shudder ripped through Sam's body – he knew exactly what Bumblebee was referring to. The Decepticon would be able to discover the boy's relationship with Bumblebee and use the information in the worst ways possible. "Do you remember Frenzy, Sam?"

"Yeah, I remember the little bastard."

"Frenzy was one of several smaller _cassette _Decepticons that are partnered with Soundwave," Bumblebee explained. "As you know, despite Frenzy's size, he was very dangerous. Soundwave will have at least three of his cassettes at his disposal to use as spies and assassins."

"Thanks for making me feel better, Bee," Sam grumbled.

"It is of the utmost importance we tell you everything," said Optimus, "so that you know what to expect. We are not trying to scare you, Sam – we are simply telling you the facts."

"I know," the boy replied meekly. "I just… didn't want to see them come back, that's all."

"It is a sentiment shared by us all," the leader said smoothly. "Unfortunately, such conflicts will never end."

Mikaela spoke for the first time that evening. "So you guys – you live forever to fight forever?"

"Nothing can live forever," Optimus said. "But it does seem that way. Unless a miracle comes to pass, our wars will continue long after human civilization has faded away."

"Good old Prime, always such a bright ray of sunshine," Ironhide grunted. This comment earned him a snarky-sounding Cybertronian reply from Optimus, and again Sam wished he could understand the alien language. He sighed, glanced to the sky, and watched what he hoped was a meteor – or a friendly Autobot – streak across the heavens. 

_One day, two days, tops, _Sam thought, his mind aching with disquiet. _And who else will join them? Will anyone else join us?_

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**A/N:** So – there you go. Hope you enjoyed it! And I have a question for y'all – what should Soundwave's alternate form be? Because, really, I don't want him to turn into something like a boom box or – even better – a lamppost. I'm thinking a sweet vehicle, but something strong and sturdy. It's food for thought…

Anyway, thanks for reading, please do drop me a review and tell me how I'm doing!

Much love,

mo


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Before I leave for school, I present to you… Chapter Six! Another nice, long chapter, this one actually having action in it (and that's the way the next couple of chapters will be). We meet some new friends and foes in this installment, and I'll mention/explain some things in the author's note at the end of the chapter. Again, a big, big thank you to those of you who give me such wonderful, positive reviews! I really, really appreciate it. It's just the kind of encouragement I need!

**Warnings:** Action… a creepy Decepticon… and an unnecessarily high volume of the dropping of the f-bomb. Actually, after this chapter, I'm going to make this story M-Rated. It's gonna get pretty… crazy.

**Disclaimer:** The cute little Autobots and Decepticons are not mine. Sadness.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Insignificance: Chapter Six**

* * *

"Bill… bill… junk… another fucking bill…" Sam groaned as he removed several envelopes from his family's mailbox and inspected them. It was a hazy, humid afternoon, his parents had taken Mojo to the vet, and Bumblebee was currently patrolling the area, keeping a watch out for any newly-arrived Decepticons. It was the third day since the Autobots' last meeting, and there had been no sign, no signal from the enemy. It was disquieting, to be sure, and Sam found himself jumping at every jet engine he heard in the sky; he scrutinized every police car and military vehicle he happened to see on the highway. 

Meanwhile, the repair of Jazz was still a work-in-progress. Ratchet had announced a day earlier that Jazz would be ready to return online in twenty-four hours, so Sam supposed, with a smirk, that the Solstice would rejoin them later that afternoon, and would proceed to annoy the hell out of the medic. As far as previous annoyances and the sources of such went, Sam had questioned Bumblebee as to who _the twins _were that Ratchet had griped about at the meeting. Bumblebee explained that the Autobots to which Ironhide had been referring were Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, twin brothers and, at least for Ratchet, twin terrors, as well. 

But, as far as Sam knew, no additional _Autobots_ had arrived, either. This was even _more _disturbing to him than the apparent lack of new Decepticons. Where the hell were they? The absence of their allies hadn't seemed to worry Bumblebee, though, and the Camaro's lack of stress made Sam wonder if the Autobot knew something the boy did not. _Are they already here, hidden? _Sam sighed in frustration and glanced at the last of the mail – an AARP magazine – then turned to the street – and _saw _it. 

The boy was familiar with the automobiles that normally roamed his neighborhood, and being the car freak he was, Sam was also one of the first to know when a family purchased a new vehicle. But the cobalt-blue Jeep Cherokee that was heading his way was one Sam hadn't seen before, and he frowned, carefully watching as the older-model SUV crept toward him. It was driving slowly, rolling on the wrong side of the road, its windows tinted a dangerous and impenetrable black. Sam found himself backing up, dropping the mail in the grass, his eyes fixed in horror on the approaching vehicle. And then – his mind _opened. _A frightening cacophony of echoes barraged Sam's brain as his thoughts were invaded; the unmistakable presence of an intruder raped his consciousness, groping for information, for his darkest and most protected secrets. Sam let out a strangled cry, trying to block his thoughts, trying to halt the plunder of his mind, screaming as random memories and images reeled through his head like a filmstrip. 

_Sam was eleven… The yapping chihuahua puppy he held in his arms was the size of a rat, and had a similar appearance, and yet, already he thought it was the best thing on the face of the Earth. It was the dog he had always wanted…_

_The grass was damp and prickly beneath Sam's back… And there, standing above him, was Trent, a smirk plastered to the football player's face. Sam could see the high school building, across the street, hazy, so far away – but then a fist collided with his face and everything turned to black…_

_The used car lot smelled like burnt rubber and baking asphalt. A flash of yellow caught Sam's eye, and he turned to see an old Camaro sitting amongst the rows of shitty, rusting automobiles. It was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life._

_Mikaela inspecting the Camaro's motor, her cropped shirt revealing her tanned, arched midriff, one arm resting on the car's popped hood, long hair cascading over her shoulders –_

_Government agents attacking Bumblebee –_

_Megatron cornering him on the roof of a building, demanding the Allspark –_

_He faced the sky, felt the sun blazing down on his exposed skin. Beneath him, the Camaro hummed contentedly, murmuring at last, "I love you, Sam."_

The Jeep drew closer, headlights flashing menacingly. As abruptly as it had started, the attack on Sam's mind ceased, and the boy righted himself, terror in his eyes, as the vehicle revved its engine in a six-cylinder roar. The SUV crawled over the cement curb, its tires now on the lawn, edging closer – Sam's brain, still short-circuiting from the unexpected assault, screamed _Run! Run! Run! _And suddenly, he felt his legs moving below his body, his feet pounding against the sidewalk. The Jeep followed, plowing over the lawns of Sam's neighbors, its engine rumbling madly. 

Sam could _feel _the vehicle behind him. And the harder, the faster he ran, the closer the SUV edged, until its front bumper crashed against his legs. Sam snarled and fell to the ground, rolling to face the angry headlights of the blue Jeep. "What in the _fuck _do you _want?_"

The Jeep roared, and then a cold voice issued from the vehicle, emotionless, mechanical, straight-to-the-point, affirming Sam's very worst fear. "You are Samuel Witwicky," the Decepticon stated. "You will die."

* * *

Bumblebee came to a screeching halt. _Something's wrong_, his sensors told him warily. _Heightened wavelength activity in the nearby vicinity. Scrambled signals coming from… _The disguised Autobot wheeled around in a tight U-turn, tires leaving marks of rubber on the pavement. _Sam is in danger. _The Camaro streaked down the neighborhood street, swerving at the last moment to avoid a mother pushing her child in a stroller. _Slag it all to the Pit! I never should have left him alone! _Bumblebee brought up a digital map of the area, pinpointed the Witwicky residence, and accelerated, hoping to Primus he would get there in time…

* * *

A panicked chill snaked its way down Sam's spine. He crawled backward, but the Jeep only inched forward, its front wheels rolling dangerously close to the boy's body. _I'm going to die, _Sam thought. _Where in the_fuck_ is Bumblebee? _But there was no time to think, no time to wonder where his guardian had disappeared to – the bumper of the SUV was surging over Sam's legs and he screamed – he didn't want it to end this way, he didn't want to die – "Soundwave! Fuck – _stop!_"

"Correct: that is my name," the disguised Decepticon replied. "Now, die." And then – there was a sudden _crash _and the crunching of metal; Sam squeezed his eyes shut, certain he was doomed – then another horrible, grating clash, alloy-on-alloy. Sam risked a look, opened an eye – and there was Bumblebee, sixteen glorious feet of Autobot, slamming the Jeep with enough force to obliterate the car, had it not been a Decepticon. With a grunt, Sam rolled away from Soundwave, climbed to his feet, and took several steps back, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

"Sam, run," Bumblebee shouted, his shoulder planted against the side of the Jeep, his battleshield drawn over his face. The SUV struggled against the yellow Autobot, roaring in protest, but Sam found himself staring, transfixed, frozen to the spot. Again, Bumblebee boomed, "Now, Sam, _RUN!_"

The back hatch of the Jeep flung itself open, and Sam heard Soundwave's emotionless voice command, "Ravage, attack." Something, Sam wasn't sure what – propelled itself from the Decepticon, landing several yards away. It stood on four legs and issued a rasping snarl – and the boy recognized the beast as a lynx… _No. Something's wrong. _Its spotted fur flickered, then dissolved completely, and there, strutting toward Sam, was a robotic panther, laser cannons mounted on its hips, hologram disguise gone.

Meanwhile, Soundwave was transforming. The cobalt-blue Jeep Cherokee unfolded and distorted, wheels becoming arm joints and grille becoming a chest; a large cannon materialized and mounted itself on the Decepticon's shoulder. "Bumblebee," Soundwave said in his monotonous voice, "you protect and love a fleshling. You are more pathetic than I remember." And again they clashed angrily, metal grinding and gnashing as it met.

Terrified neighbors peered out from their windows, gathered dumbly on their front porches to watch the spectacle, their mouths gaping open in fear and confusion. "Go back inside!" Sam shouted. "Hide!" And then, a snarl – Sam wheeled around and there was the Decepticon panther, a yard away and closing in. Sam _ran. _Dashing metal paws clanged behind him, louder, louder; he could hear Ravage snapping at his heels, could hear the whine of a charging weapon. Sam hurdled into the street as a blast of blue electricity rocketed over his shoulder. _Oh, hell, this just _isn't _fair!_

Ravage was gaining on him. Sam felt a sharp set of claws tear at his leg, ripping his jeans and his flesh, drawing blood. The boy bit back a scream of pain, dodged a parked sedan, and dashed left into a busy intersection. The Cybertronian panther was inches behind him, spitting and roaring with fury, intent on achieving the mission Soundwave had ordered. Cars came to screeching halts as Sam darted through the heavy traffic; angry yells and deafening honks pounded at his ears. Ravage was unsurprisingly agile, jumping from the hood of a pickup truck to the canopy of a taxi, denting metal and shattering windshields as he tore after his prey.

Sam reached the other side of the street, the panther bounding after him. Panting heavily, the boy ducked behind a postage box, another blast of energy slashing though the air where his head had been only moments before. "God_dammit!_" he howled frantically. "Someone fucking_help me!_" Ravage rounded the mailbox and pounced, Sam barely having time to dive from the attack. He climbed to his feet and ran, his left leg bloody and torn, the only thought ringing in his mind _Help-help-help-help –_

All traffic had come to a standstill; several cars had crashed but the drivers were too frightened – too dumbstruck – too confused to be angry with one another. Sam hazarded a glance to the side street where Bumblebee and Soundwave were still locked in combat. The Decepticon was larger and obviously stronger, and he wrestled the Autobot to the ground. Sam yelled – he wasn't sure what – but suddenly, he was knocked down, the sky falling away from him, pain surging through his spine as he collided with the sidewalk. 

Ravage loomed above Sam, malice glowing in the panther's red optics. The animal-form cassette leveled its side-mounted laser rifle directly at the boy's face, aiming for Sam at a point-blank range. The weapon charged, a high-pitched hum that shredded Sam's thoughts, and there he was, facing death itself, three inches from the gun that would end his life, he was done for –

And then, a blur of red, a robotic, scarlet arm smashing into the panther and sending it slamming into the street with a loud _crunch_ –

An Autobot Sam had never seen before towered above him, something between a smirk and a grimace on his facial components. Sam's heart was hammering in his chest so hard that it was painful; his breath had hitched and he_forced _himself to start breathing again. "W – who…?"

"I'm Sideswipe," the Autobot said, an out-of-place grin finally showing on his features. "And I'm here to save your aft."

"Thank – thank you – " Sam stammered. Several yards away, the damaged form of Ravage was stirring, slowly climbing to its feet. 

Sideswipe extended a hand toward Sam and frowned when the boy hesitated. "Well? Get the slag up! Ravage is still fraggin' dangerous!"

Sam nodded jerkily and grasped onto the red Autobot, soon finding himself standing shakily at the feet of the Cybertronian. "Bumblebee – " the boy managed.

"We've got reinforcements coming in," Sideswipe explained quickly. He glanced over to Ravage, who had been creeping closer, then raised his shoulder cannon, launching several warning shots toward the small Decepticon. "My dear brother didn't want to be the one to scratch his paint rescuing a human he's never met, so as soon as we heard something was going on over here, he set off to alert Optimus."

There was a loud crash behind them, and both Sam and Sideswipe wheeled around to face the road – Ironhide, in his truck form, was plowing through the stalled traffic. He peeled onto the side street where Soundwave and Bumblebee grappled, and smashed head-on into the blue Decepticon. As the black Autobot transformed, however, Soundwave quickly folded in on himself, returning to his Jeep mode; he revved his engine loudly and raced away, Bumblebee changing into the Camaro and careening after the SUV. Sam heard Ironhide curse loudly; he changed back into the GMC Topkick and tore after Bumblebee and Soundwave, taking no heed of the cars that were in his way. 

Growling with rage, Ravage, too, bounded away, struggling in his damaged state. 

Sam released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, then sank to the ground, his legs collapsing beneath him. "Sideswipe," he gasped, "oh, my _God_…"

The Autobot crouched down next the boy, looking perturbed. "This never should have happened. Both Bumblebee _and _Ratchet were patrolling this area, how Soundwave was able to slip past their guard is beyond me…"

"Com… compared to these guys… Megatron… was nothing," Sam panted. He had faced death far too many times in the past three minutes, and now his stomach was churning, threatening to throw up what he'd eaten for lunch. 

"Megatron was a little rusty after being frozen for a few millennia," Sideswipe said, "or so they tell me. Word is that _you're _the one who brought that slagging scrapheap down."

Sam nodded. "Yeah – I – I guess."

The red Autobot smirked. "Good going. One moment, Sunstreaker is sending me a message." Sideswipe paused and listened to his internal commlink, his optics randomly narrowing, a smile occasionally touching his features then disappearing. "It's okay, bro, I've got him… Yes. Tell Optimus I'll take him there… No, don't worry about it, I'm _sure _he'll be impressed enough." Sideswipe ended the transmission and shook his head in disbelief. "Sunstreaker – my twin brother – he is a special case."

"How so?"

"I'll let you find out," Sideswipe replied with a cryptic smirk. "Then again, the idiot probably says the same thing about me." Sam hadn't been entirely aware that Cybertronians could _have_ true siblings, but he supposed it made sense, somehow. And, from what he had witnessed so far, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker definitely interacted like real twin brothers. 

"What do we do from here?" Sam asked. The road was a mess; men and women were shouting and crying and dashing to one another's aid. Dozens of frightened and accusatory stares were directed toward Sideswipe, and Sam knew that it would be in their very best interest to leave the area, as soon as possible, before government and military vehicles showed up. Already, he could hear sirens wailing in the distance. 

"Sunstreaker told me that Optimus Prime wants you back at the base," the red Autobot said. 

"But what about_Bumblebee?_" Sam demanded. "And Ironhide? What if – what if they're getting _killed _out there?"

"They aren't," Sideswipe said, sounding perfectly confident. "Ratchet's coming to help. Soundwave's tricky, but even with his cassettes, he'll be no match for three Autobots." Still, the boy was unnerved. Knowing Bumblebee, the Autobot was probably feeling extremely guilty that Sam had been attacked under his watch. The guilt would undoubtedly lead to rage, which would in turn lead to recklessness… Sam squirmed, feeling powerless and uncomfortable. Sideswipe considered the boy with interest, and said, finally, "Believe me, Sam, I'd like nothing more than to follow Bumblebee and Ironhide, as well. Fighting is engrained in my spark, but – hey, orders are orders, right?"

Sam sighed with resignation. "I guess so. How're we getting there?"

"We drive," Sideswipe replied, sounding rather excited about the idea.

"What – what _are_you – that is, sorry – what do you turn into?"

The Autobot smirked. "Only the sleekest vehicle on your planet – just don't tell my brother I said that, he'll get all bent out of shape." Sam raised an eyebrow at this, though he couldn't imagine a sexier ride than Bumblebee's alternate form. Sideswipe's frame shuddered and shifted, metal plates folding in to conceal electrical components, his shoulder cannon sinking under a red panel, wheels aligning themselves, until –

Sam goggled at the vehicle that was parked before him. "Holy _fuck_, Sideswipe!"

"I knew you'd appreciate it," the Lamborghini replied, obviously quite pleased with himself. 

"Holy – oh, my God. Oh, man. You're a fucking _Lambo?_" Sam was rooted to the spot, eyes wide, taking in as much of the curvy, red Italian sports car as possible. "I – I'm about to ride in a Lamborghini," the boy squeaked at last, finding it hard to believe his own words. "_Oh_… _my_… _God_."

"A 2007 Lamborghini Gallardo, to be exact," Sideswipe said. "Now get the slag in so we can get out of here." The driver's side door opened and rose, like a wing or the hatch to some futuristic space jet, and Sam stood there, partially in shock from being chased by a pack of Decepticons, partially in shock from realizing he was about to sit _behind the steering wheel _of a Lamborghini. The car's engine roared, and Sam snapped out of his reverie, sat himself on the expensive-looking leather seat, and watched with wonder as the door fell shut. "And away we go," Sideswipe's voice said. The Autobot accelerated like a missile, flying over the sidewalk until the road was unobstructed, the speedometer needle pushing 180. 

Sometimes, Sam couldn't believe his luck.

* * *

"Oh – oh, _crap_, I forgot I was bleeding!" Sam leaned forward against the pressure of his seatbelt to examine the gash that Ravage had torn into his left calf. The blood was soaking through his ripped pant leg, staining the denim to a dark, scarlet hue. The wound hurt, but until now, all the excitement had pushed the pain to the back of Sam's mind.

"You _forgot?_" Sideswipe asked incredulously. "Hey, if _I _was leaking energon, I sure as Primus wouldn't be _forgetting _about it!"

"Yeah – it's… it's not that bad of an injury, actually," Sam said. "I've seen worse… Hurts now, though."

"I know he specializes in mechanics, but Ratchet could possibly – "

Sam shook his head and glanced out the window at the desert scenery that was flying by. "No, he's got enough on his hands already, believe me, with Jazz and you and your brother and all."

Sideswipe laughed. "He said that, did he? And it's true, too. Sunstreaker and I have tormented Ratchet for millennia… He complains about us all the time, but I have a feeling he secretly enjoys the mayhem we sometimes… instigate." 

Sam chuckled. "Well, he sure knows how to hide it, then…"

"He's had a _lot_of practice," Sideswipe remarked, sounding amused. "Oh, well, with any luck, he and Bumblebee and Ironhide should be back with a story of Decepticon aft-kicking to tell."

The boy nodded. "I sure hope so."

* * *

Sideswipe pulled to a screeching halt in front of the abandoned desert complex that the Autobots had adopted as their base. It was the first time Sam had seen the old buildings in plain daylight, and he realized that the largest was an old aircraft hangar, made of dilapidated corrugated steel. Sideswipe's driver-side door hummed and rose, and Sam stepped out of the Lamborghini, wishing the whole situation wasn't so tense and severe. He had enjoyed the ride greatly, but the state of Bumblebee had been weighing heavily on his mind during the entire trip out of the city and through the desert. Sam stood back and watched Sideswipe transform, wondering what his friends – hell, his_father_, who thought _Porches _were amazing – would think if they'd seen him behind the wheel of a Lamborghini. 

"Well – Ratchet, Bumblebee, and Ironhide don't seem to have returned, yet," the red Autobot observed as he and Sam made their way toward the open bay door of the hangar. "Blast. But – I'm sure they're fine."

Sam followed Sideswipe into the shade of the vast, metal building, and was greeted by the sight of Optimus Prime. Optimus, who was in the middle of an exchange on his commlink, nodded to them, then resumed his conversation, speaking in the Cybertronian language. At the other end of the hangar, his arms crossed and pacing agitatedly, was a garishly yellow Autobot Sam didn't recognize. Although, he looked familiar…

Optimus ended the dialogue with whomever he'd been talking to, and plodded toward Sam, looking both worried and relieved. "Sam – I apologize. There is no excuse for that attack to have happened."

But the boy shook his head, not wanting any blame to be pinned on Bumblebee. "No, no – it's fine, really. I'm okay. Scared the shit outta me, yeah – but I'm alive."

"Ironhide and Ratchet have Bumblebee and they're on their way here," Optimus explained. "Ironhide says it was Soundwave who attacked you."

"Yeah, and that robo-cat from hell – but wait – what do you mean, they _have_Bumblebee?" Sam demanded. "Is he _hurt?_"

"Ratchet has just informed me that Bumblebee has been shaken up, but told me that he'll be fine."

Sam frowned, and although he knew Bumblebee was a perfectly capable Autobot, he had seen Soundwave easily dominate in their battle… The boy sighed and shuffled over to Sideswipe, hoping the Lamborghini could raise his spirits. "Hey, Sideswipe," Sam murmured when he reached the red Autobot's side. He motioned to the lone yellow 'bot and asked, "Is that – ?"

"Oh, slag, he's either sulking or basking in his own glory. Hey, Sunny!" Sideswipe called toward the solitary figure. "Get your aft over here!"

The yellow Autobot halted his pacing and glanced their way, relief showing on his facial components as he hustled toward them. "Where've you been? Took you long enough, Sides."

"Not my fault. The boy was taking his time to drool over my alt-form. And for the record, don't call me that."

"So don't call me_Sunny_, you fraggin' – " The Autobot stopped himself, and instead swiveled his gaze to Sam. "So you're the one who killed Megatron? Good stuff. I'm Sunstreaker, the twin brother of this idiot, here."

"Hey!"

Sam smirked. "Uh – nice to meet you."

"What did you_really _think of Sideswipe's alt-form? A little on the slow side, right?"

"Um, no, not at –_wait_, what in the hell do _you _turn into?"

Sunstreaker grinned, put on a false show of modesty, and said, "Oh, just a Lamborghini Murcielago…" 

"Holy shit!"

"I know, right? Puts that piece-of-slag, entry-level Gallardo to shame."

Sam wasn't so sure about that – as far as he knew, any Lamborghini was a good Lamborghini – and Sideswipe was about to protest – but at that moment, loud cursing and the squeal of tires sounded from outside. 

"Oh, slag," Sideswipe grunted, and soon he, Sunstreaker, and Optimus were charging for the exit of the hangar, Sam barely able to keep up. Outside, dust clouds hung where the three vehicles had come to a halt; Ironhide and Ratchet were already transforming, both looking worse for wear. But the Camaro –

Sam ran to Bumblebee, placed his hands on the hood of the disguised Autobot, eyes darting over his severely-dented frame and scraped paint. "Bee – shit! – what the hell happened? Are you _okay?_"

"Yes," came the reply, and a moment later, the Camaro was changing, unfolding to become the Autobot that Sam so deeply cared for. 

The boy surveyed Bumblebee's armor, taking note of the new dings and cracks; he brought himself to look into Bumblebee's optics, and realized, with dismay, that one was considerably dimmer than the other. And then Sam's gaze traveled to the Camaro's left arm – it hung limply at the Autobot's side as if dead, circuits shorting and sizzling, arcs of blue electricity running over broken and twisted wires. "_Bee_ – "

"It is nothing," Bumblebee muttered, sounding disgusted with himself. "I failed you, and that, by far, is worse than any physical pain I am feeling at this moment."

Sam shook his head, slack-jawed at the wrongful admission of guilt. "What? No, Bumblebee. You fucking _saved _me out there!" And before Sam knew what he was doing, he rushed toward the Autobot and threw his arms around one of Bumblebee's dented legs. "I'd be dead now, if it weren't for you."

"Thank you, Sam, but no matter what you say, it does not deny the fact that I failed."

Ironhide glared at the injured Autobot. "Give yourself some slaggin' credit, will you? You fought well. And in any case – I'm dragging your aft to the sickbay, right now. No protesting, either. Ratchet's about to blow a circuit."

The medic did not deny this accusation. "You do that, just don't put him too close to Jazz – _that _slagheap is fragile enough, as he is." Sam watched longingly as Ironhide and Bumblebee plodded away, and he knew that as soon as he got the chance, he'd visit and _assure _his guardian that _nothing _had been his fault. 

Optimus Prime approached Ratchet and spoke, his voice grim. "What of Soundwave?"

Ratchet seemed to sigh. He looked frazzled and exasperated, and he launched into describing how he had intercepted Bumblebee and Ironhide, both of whom had been tailing Soundwave. It had erupted into an all-out brawl in the middle of a suburb, the Decepticon pummeling Bumblebee while two of his cassettes – Ravage and a creature called Laserbeak (whom Sam didn't want to picture) assaulted Ironhide and Ratchet. Ravage had been destroyed, but –

"You mean Soundwave _got away?_" Sunstreaker demanded, sounding mutinous. "Three against one, that's just _great_, if _I'd_been there – "

"You're the one who didn't want to scratch that slagging ugly paint job of yours!" Sideswipe shouted back at his brother.

"You take that back, right now."

"I don't think I will."

"You slagging, little – "

"Will you two please SILENCE YOURSELVES?" Ratchet was shaking with some amount of pent-up rage, and Sam now understood why the medic had been dreading the arrival of the twins. The yellow-green Autobot pointed menacingly at Sunstreaker. "You – you have _no _idea how wonderfully peaceful these past two months have been. And now that_you're _here, it's _already _gone to the Pit!" The accusatory finger shifted to Sideswipe. "And _you _– if you do _any_thing out of line – if I find _any_thing in the base sabotaged or compromised for the general amusement of you and your brother – _you_, Sideswipe, will be the first I blame."

"That's not – " the red Lamborghini began, but he was swiftly cut off by Ratchet's continued rant.

"And to think_Wheeljack _will be arriving in less than two hours – Primus, someone deactivate me _now!_"

"I'd be happy to – "

Ratchet shot Sunstreaker the most venomous glare he could muster, then stormed away to the makeshift sickbay, muttering with disgruntlement about defective sports-car slagheaps. Optimus was soon to follow, though the leader seemed to have been thoroughly entertained by the twins' altercation – Sam figured that he had sorely missed their tension-relieving humor. Sam, too, had watched the entire spectacle with some amount of amusement, and inwardly praised the fact he had no siblings. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were arguing again, this time about various models of Lamborghinis and which were better-looking; he smirked and left them to quarrel, deciding to follow Ratchet and Optimus to the sickbay and check up on Bumblebee.

_So _this _is what Ratchet's been doing for the last two months. _Sam studied the sickbay in awe, staring curiously at the alien-looking instruments and machines that packed the room. Metal panels with odd hookups and gauges in increments he couldn't decipher; steel tubing that snaked its way across the cement floor; a barrel of gasoline connected to some sort of computer with a flat-screen display, diagnostics running across the monitor in Cybertronian glyphs. At one end of the room, lying motionlessly on an Autobot-sized berth, was Jazz, visor retracted, optics shuttered. His repaired torso looked as good as new, the wiring mended and the metal soldered back to its original state. Sam had _seen _the result of Megatron's attack on Jazz – and realized Ratchet was one _hell _of a healer.

Sam swiveled his gaze to the other side of the room, where Ratchet, Optimus, and Ironhide were crowded around the form of Bumblebee. They were speaking in their native language, Ironhide sounding displeased, Optimus sounding doubtful, and Ratchet sounding edgy. Bumblebee, meanwhile, was silent, glaring at the wall, making no attempt to communicate with the other Autobots. Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. It was obvious that Bumblebee was still extremely angry with himself. The boy watched, interested, as Ratchet hooked up some sort of device to the Camaro's damaged arm, pulses of electricity emanating from the delicate-looking instrument. Bumblebee flinched, but said nothing, and continued his staring contest with the corrugated, steel wall.

* * *

It had taken some convincing, but Sam managed to clear Ironhide, Optimus, and Ratchet out of the sickbay so he could talk to Bumblebee in private. Ratchet had been the least keen to leave, but after a pointedly significant glare from Optimus, he, too stalked out, though not before warning Sam to keep his _organic parts _off the machines. 

The boy sighed, looked for a place to sit, and, not finding anything suitable, decided he would have to stand instead. "Bumblebee, we're gonna talk."

"About what, Sam? I failed. End of story."

"You have some weird conceptions of _failing_, then," Sam countered, now pacing. "Bee, I said it earlier, and I'll say it again. _You. Saved. Me._"

"Soundwave was able to breach – "

"I don't give a fuck about Soundwave!" Sam snarled. "We all make mistakes, okay? And if I remember right, Bee, that's the _first_and _only _mistake you've made since we've met! There'll be more, alright? And I _accept _that! It's a _human _thing to do!"

"I'm not a human."

"You're _living_ with them! Get used to it! The greatest men and women in our_history _have fucked up, too! And we move on!" Sam stopped his pacing and made searing eye contact with the yellow Autobot. "Don't you tell me that _Cybertronians _are faultless! I'll bet my fucking _life _that Optimus Prime has made a _shitload _of mistakes in _his _lifetime!"

Bumblebee studied Sam for a while, his gaze not shifting, one optic flickering sporadically. "We are not perfect, either," he conceded at last.

"See? What's the big deal, then?" Sam asked, his voice softer, now. 

"I failed _you_."

Sam groaned. "Bumblebee?"

"Yes?"

"That's okay. You didn't fail me. You _haven't _yet. Sure, you were a little late – " he forced a smile, " – but I'm alive. And_you're _alive. And… Bee, I love you, alright? Stop beating yourself up."

The Autobot seemed to sigh. "…Okay."

Sam let a natural smile come to his lips, and he leaned forward, over the berth, to give Bumblebee a hug. The gesture was returned, one-armed, and the boy murmured, "Does it hurt?"

"In human terms, I imagine my injuries would be considered quite painful. From a _Cybertronian _viewpoint, however – not so much. I have felt worse."

"I guess that's good to hear." Sam sighed and nuzzled in closer to Bumblebee, feeling the warm metal against his face, the tug of the invisible magnetic field pull slightly at his body. There was a comfortable silence, for which Sam was very thankful; he was already feeling extremely guilty for screaming at the Autobot only moments before. Finally, Sam whispered, "You fought really well out there."

A hesitation, then, "Thank you."

Another minute of silence and a warm embrace passed, then Optimus plodded into the room. He considered his soldier and the human for a split second, then said, "I apologize for interrupting. Ratchet is getting…_cranky_ and wishes to be back in the sickbay with his patients."

Sam nodded. "I understand." He placed a kiss on Bumblebee's faceplate – which the Autobot didn't understand but enjoyed nevertheless – and murmured, "Get some rest, Bee." Bumblebee nodded in the affirmative, released his hold on Sam, then nodded to Optimus in acknowledgement. 

"Ratchet tells me you will be in complete working order within a day," he informed the injured Autobot. "You fought bravely this afternoon. I look forward to having you fight by my side again."

"Yes, sir," Bumblebee replied. 

"I am preparing to debrief the rest of the Autobots with intelligence of what is in action following these most recent events," Optimus explained. "I'll send in one of the twins afterward to relay the full story to you."

"Thank you. Ratchet will be most thrilled."

Optimus smirked behind his faceplate. "I know."

While Ratchet hustled back to Bumblebee's aid, Sam, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Ironhide stationed themselves around their leader to hear the latest news. "There are reports," Optimus said, "that five humans lost their lives this afternoon. It is unclear whether Soundwave or one of his cassettes murdered these people, or if they were killed in the traffic collisions that occurred as a result of the attack. Secondly, Sector Seven has been reassembled and they will be gathering the necessary military help for when Soundwave – and the rest of the Decepticons – reveal themselves again."

"What's the government saying?" Sam asked from his place beside Sideswipe. "Are they trying to cover it all up like last time, or…?"

"According to Captain Lennox, the government has yet to make a public statement regarding the attack. However, it seems the administration is fully prepared to announce the truth of the matter."

Sam cringed, imagining the horror in the streets when – and if – such an announcement were to be made. Terrorists were horrible and all – but they were_human_, and they were something the average American citizen could accept and understand and recognize. But _giant alien robots_that could disguise themselves as _ordinary vehicles and aircraft? _No doubt there would be a monumental uproar. People would panic and take matters into their own hands, peppering normal cars and trucks with machine gun rounds; they would mistake friendly Autobots for the Decepticon foe, and vice-versa. It would, in short, be one giant clusterfuck; but Sam wasn't sure there was another option. 

Sunstreaker spoke next. "Optimus, have you received any signals from the other Decepti-jerks yet?"

"Yeah," chimed his twin, "Heard anything from Megatron's little bitch lately?" Ironhide started to laugh at Sideswipe's remark, but he received a piercing glare from Optimus; his chuckling was quickly reduced to an odd, metallic cough. 

"We have heard nothing," Optimus replied. "Not even before Soundwave attacked earlier this afternoon. I suspect they have jammed our access to their signals."

Sam blinked. "Are you saying that Starscream and Skywarp – and any others – they're_here_ already?"

"It's very likely," Ironhide said, his voice low and menacing. "We're already trying to jam _their _signals, so they don't discover where _we _are."

Biting his lower lip, Sam wondered if now would be the appropriate time – _No, I can't betray Bumblebee, but… _The boy sighed. They had to know, _now_, before the Decepticons were able to regroup and gather their forces at full strength. "Um… Optimus? I know… where Barricade is."

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**A/N:** First of all, Soundwave's alt-form – to me, Soundwave has always been a kind of old-school, yet practical kind of guy. It took me a few days to figure it out, but something suddenly came to mind in one of those duh kind of moments. So… hence the Jeep Cherokee (also, I'm kind of biased, 'cause that would be my car… though it's not blue). Secondly, the twins – are they in character? I'm going off the G1 cartoon here, and it's why they're so… informal. But I think it suits them well. Sorry to leave you on a sort of cliffhanger, and right before I start school, too! But I promise I'll have Chapter Seven up within the next week and a half.

Thanks for reading, and let me know how I'm doing, okay?

Hugs,

mo


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** My first comment, off the bat, is a big apology for how long it has taken me to add this chapter. I feel horrible about it! Seriously, even college shouldn't make me wait two weeks to update this story. Now that I'm easing back into things again and getting used to my schedule, updates will not take so long. I promise. My second comment is another apology, this time for the chapter itself. I wanted so much more to happen, I wanted it to be longer, I wanted the plot to move along more – but none of this transpired. It's not really a filler chapter by any means, it's just not what I originally had in mind. That said, because certain events have not taken place yet, this story has not yet garnered its M-rating.

Also, a big thank you to my readers and reviewers. As always, you guys are awesome and full of win. I seriously appreciate everything!

**Warnings:** Oh, I don't know, the usual. This chapter's pretty tame.

**Disclaimer:** Alas, they are not mine. Darn you, Hasbro, darn you.

Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Insignificance: Chapter Seven**

* * *

The silence that fell was immediate. As if belonging to one Autobot, several sets of blue optics turned to Sam. "Continue," Optimus Prime said flatly.

Sam heaved a shaky sigh. _This is wrong. Bee'll _kill _me – if Barricade doesn't kill me first. _"He's – he's east of the city. I can only think of three junkyards that are out that way. So – he's got to be in one of those."

"And how did you come by this information?" Ironhide grunted.

A jolt of panic flickered through Sam's brain. How _did _he know? Bumblebee, of course – but could he risk _telling _the others that? Immediately they would ask why _Bumblebee _hadn't revealed Barricade's location right away, and that would surely get the Camaro into _some _amount of trouble… Sam hesitated, moved his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Bumblebee confided in you, didn't he, Sam?" Optimus said, his tone smooth. At the boy's surprised expression, the Autobot leader continued, "I have known Bumblebee for a very long time. We were in contact when the war was first starting, and I was aware that he associated, at the time, with several soon-to-be Decepticons. Barricade was one of them, as he surely must have told you, Sam. They were very close. I can understand why Bumblebee would be disinclined to reveal Barricade's location to the rest of us."

Sam groaned. "He'll be _so _upset at me for telling you."

"Yes, I imagine he will," Optimus said. "But it is for the better. And Bumblebee will forgive you, Sam. He – " The Autobot stopped himself from finishing the sentence, and Sam could guess that what he'd been about to say concerned how much Bee _loved _him; but Optimus knew that the other Autobots were still unaware of Sam and Bumblebee's relationship. There was an odd sort of pause, then, "It will be for the better," Optimus repeated. "We will attack tonight. _All _of us. Jazz and Bumblebee included, if they are both in fighting condition, and Wheeljack, as well, if he indeed arrives when he said he would."

Ironhide pulled Optimus aside to discuss the matter further; Sam felt miserable and glanced forlornly at the sickbay door. Sideswipe was the first to comfort him. "It's alright," the red Autobot murmured, crouching next to the boy so that they were closer to eye-level. "Barricade's a dirty Decepticon. Dirtier than most, if you ask me."

"Never understood what Bumblebee saw in that jerk," Sunstreaker added. "He was always such a dominant pile of slag."

"Pushed him around a lot." The twins shared a knowing glance, the meaning of which Sam could clearly read in their expressions. "It was an unhealthy relationship. And if Barricade got another chance, he wouldn't hesitate to – " Sideswipe didn't finish his thought. "But we won't give him that chance, right, Sunny?"

"I'll blast you if you call me that again."

"Like Primus you would." There was a pause. "Sunny."

Sunstreaker glared daggers at his brother. "You fraggin' son of a glitch…"

"That'd make you one, too – " Sideswipe stopped, mid-sentence, and shot Sam a curious look. "Your leg."

Sam blinked. Again, he had forgotten all about the wound on his left calf, the gash that Ravage had torn during the chase less than an hour before. Now that he was thinking about it though, the laceration hurt; it seared now that he was once more aware of its existence. Sam cringed and knelt down on his right knee to get a closer look. "Oh, fuck. The goddamned thing is bleeding again."

Sunstreaker turned to his twin. "You know, I think I'm starting to like these Earth swear words…"

Ignoring his brother's comment, Sideswipe took another glance at the bleeding slash. "Sam, go see Ratchet. It doesn't happen often, but for once, I'm being serious."

The boy nodded. "I know. I've kinda got a bad feeling about it. And – well, crap, Bee will be furious when he hears about… But I don't want him to be surprised… Wait – someone come with me. Optimus enlisted one of you to explain everything we discussed, to Bumblebee."

"Not me," Sideswipe said quickly. It earned him another glare from Sunstreaker.

"_Fine_, then. I'll be the bringer of bad news." And together, the yellow Lamborghini and Sam walked toward the sickbay. "You're going to be the one to tell him about Barricade, though," Sunstreaker added. "An angry Bumblebee is something even _I_can't handle."

"Great."

While Sunstreaker filled Bumblebee in on the U.S. military's plan to intervene in the event of another Decepticon attack, Ratchet examined the gash on Sam's leg. The boy was seated on top of a large, metal console, his torn left pant leg rolled up to the knee. As the medic held a datapad over Sam's calf, the boy couldn't help but glance worriedly over to where the two yellow Autobots were talking, both speaking in Cybertronian, their voices sounding strained. 

Ratchet frowned as he scanned Sam's wound with some odd, alien instrument, then ducked to a small monitor to read the results. "I don't specialize in healing all-organic beings," the medic explained. "I am still quite unfamiliar with the human body. Ravage did this, you say?"

Sam nodded. "He took a swipe at me. It's not that deep, Ratchet. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Perhaps," the Autobot replied, sounding troubled. "He could have sliced you in half – you were lucky to survive. Had Ravage gotten another chance…" A mechanical shudder coursed through Ratchet's frame and he turned back to Sam. "The best we can do, for now, is disinfect and bandage it; by some miracle, that will be the only treatment your wound will require."

"What do you mean?"

"Your skin was broken and your bloodstream came in contact with an alien metal, Sam," Ratchet explained. "There is no way of knowing how your body will react. It could be contaminated… In addition, your blood is not coagulating properly around the incision – that is to say, it's not forming a scab to stop the flow of blood. Have you always had this condition?"

"Shit – no, it's never been a problem before."

Ratchet nodded. "This is worrisome. I will keep an eye on the wound over the course of the next twenty-four hours. Changing your bandage once or twice an hour will be required. It is very possible that the best place for you to go would be a hospital."

Sam shook his head. "No. No way. I want to be here for when Jazz wakes up – and Wheeljack arrives – and when we attack Barricade. I'm not about to spend time in some lousy hospital."

"I thought that would be the case," the medic replied. "And I do not blame you, Sam. You were in a rough state throughout the course of the last battle, as well – and you ended up saving us all. I will apply disinfectant to the wound and bandage it, for now – but be aware that this will only temporarily staunch the flow of blood, and it will certainly _not _help fight any alien viruses you might have come in contact with."

Sam forced a smile. "So I could catch the Cybertronian AIDS or something? That's cool. I'm down with that."

Ratchet rolled his optics and waved a dismissive hand, then plodded over to a large storage compartment. "You, too, Witwicky? Primus, I've already got Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to deal with, and Wheeljack arriving within the hour – and, by the Allspark, _Jazz_, who will be returning online after I'm finished here with _you_…" The medic came back with a first-aid kit, which, with its human-designed proportions, seemed out-of-place and small in his grasp. "It's likely I'm the last one here, besides Prime, of course, who has retained his sanity."

The boy laughed. He wasn't sure _why _Ratchet so feared the arrival of Wheeljack – Sam hadn't heard much about this Autobot, other than the fact he was some sort of a scientist. Still, Ratchet definitely had his reasons, and Sam could imagine that they were probably well-founded. "You need a vacation."

"Oh, yes, I definitely will," Ratchet replied. "Especially after this next battle, whenever the slag _that _will happen."

"Well…" Sam leaned in closer to the medic so Bumblebee wouldn't overhear their conversation. "Optimus wants to go and attack Barricade tonight," he whispered. "He wants _all _of us to go."

"Wonderful," Ratchet growled. He finished cleaning the gash in Sam's leg; it made the boy wince, but somehow, those huge Autobot hands were extremely careful and precise. "I'd better stock up on red and yellow paint. Those slagging twins are going to be the first ones to come limping through the medbay door."

"They get hurt a lot?" Sam asked, leaning forward to help Ratchet wind gauze around his calf. Already, blood was starting to seep through.

The medic nodded distractedly. "Oh, yes, they jump right in. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe love to fight. It usually ends up as a disaster – though I'm quite sure they get pleasure out of knowing _I_ have to slave over their worthless, slagging bodies, fixing every servomotor and cable possible. I have a suspicion that they might even injure themselves on purpose, just so they can torture me with their repairs."

Sam eyed the bandage on his leg and chuckled. "What, honorable Autobots lowering themselves to _that _level?"

"With those two, you'd be surprised," Ratchet grumbled. He turned to where Sunstreaker and Bumblebee were still in conversation. "I suppose you'll want to talk to Bumblebee before I put Jazz back online."

"Yeah."

"Very well, then, let's see if I can get this fool out of here…" Sam figured Ratchet must have sent Sunstreaker a threatening message over his commlink, because a second later, the yellow Lamborghini was making a no-questions-asked run for the exit of the sickbay. Ratchet grinned. "As much as they annoy me, it _is _good to have Sunstreaker and Sideswipe back. And now, I will leave – the room is all yours, but do try to make it fast. We can't keep Jazz waiting."

"Thank you," Sam replied. "I promise it'll be quick." He slid off the metal console on which he'd been sitting, and walked – _limped_, he hated to admit – to where Bumblebee rested in partial stasis, optics dimmed, arms crossed over his chassis. Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey… Bee."

The yellow Autobot swiveled his head, his optics searching the boy standing before him. "You told them."

Sam felt the bottom of his stomach fall out. "Oh, Bee," he murmured miserably. "I _had _to."

Bumblebee leaned forward so that he was in a sitting position. "I know," came the unexpected reply. "I figured you would. I was almost…_hoping_ you would."

"What?" Sam cocked a confused eyebrow; he had fully expected the Autobot to be in an emotional rage, but the situation seemed to be the exact opposite. 

The Camaro heaved a metallic sigh. "It's part of the reason why I told you in the first place, Sam. I knew you would have more courage than _me_ to inform Optimus of Barricade's location."

Sam groaned. "But – but Bee, you two… I feel horrible – I mean…" The boy slumped onto the berth. "Optimus expects us _all _to attack. Tonight."

Bumblebee shook his head. "Does not compute," he said stubbornly. "Our_dear leader_, then, will have to understand that fighting Barricade in his current state is something I cannot do." 

"What if – what if he's better?"

"I would have heard about it by now," Bumblebee said, his tone sounding bitter. "Barricade would have informed me of his improved state of being and would promptly have invited me back to the scrapyard for another visit."

The boy sighed and scratched the back of his neck, feeling uncomfortable. "Well, could you at least _come along_, then? Even – even after what happened today, with that fucking _Soundwave_ and all, I still want to go." Sam figured he must have sounded like a raving lunatic; what human, in his or her right mind, would _willingly_face a pack of Decepticons in battle? He knew it was curiosity, more than anything else. Sam _wanted _to see what the new foe looked like; he _wanted _to see the Autobots blast the enemy into smoldering shards. So _what _if he was putting his life in danger? Sam _had _to be there, with Bumblebee and Optimus Prime and the rest of his friends. 

"It is my duty to protect you," Bumblebee stated. "I will accompany you, tonight, but I will not engage in any battle. Even if he has been repaired, Barricade would enjoy it too much. Horrible circumstances could arise."

Frankly, Sam was surprised that Bumblebee wasn't arguing with his decision to travel alongside the Autobots on their mission to find and destroy Barricade. The boy sighed and returned his gaze to the Camaro sitting before him. Bumblebee looked slightly better than he had an hour earlier. His optics were no longer damaged and his arm looked to be fully repaired; but his paint was scratched and scuffed and his metal armor was peppered with dings and dents. "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were talking, earlier…"

Bumblebee made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort of disapproval. "I'll bet they were."

"Your – your, um, _relationship _with Barricade, Bee…" His voice had shrunk to barely a whisper, but Sam forced himself to continue the thought. "They said it was kind of, uh… abusive."

"That is the same old slag you will always hear from those two," Bumblebee grunted, obviously irritated. "It's good to know their standards haven't fallen."

"But _Bee_, is it true?"

"It is something I will neither confirm nor deny at this time, Sam," the Autobot said plainly. "When Barricade is dispatched, perhaps _then _I will explain more to you. But now is not a convenient – "

Outside, there was a muffled explosion. The floor shook, Sam swore, and a moment later, it was silent again. "What the hell was that?"

"Wheeljack seems to have arrived."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Sam's lips. "Really? I'll bet Ratchet's pleased."

"Judging by the amount of cursing over the commlink, he's absolutely thrilled."

Sam laughed. "Okay – Bee, I'll be _right back_, I promise. I need to see what all the fuss is about."

"Understood."

Sam exited the sickbay, not having a clue of what to expect. A scientist Autobot? It wasn't a weird concept, but it was hard for him to visualize. What would a_scientist _transform into? A research submarine? A_fuel-efficient _Japanese car?The hangar was empty, but there was a fair amount of commotion coming from outside, so Sam left the comfortable shade and stepped into the blazing afternoon sun. A couple dozen yards away, Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker were gathered around the new arrival, sunlight glinting blindingly off their metal armor. Squinting into the reflected light, Sam trudged through the dry brush toward the group of Autobots.

"Hey," he said.

The towering robots turned to face him, and the new arrival spoke first. "So _this_is the boy Optimus Prime speaks so highly of – the one who defeated _Megatron_." The Autobot Sam assumed to be Wheeljack looked strangely _alien _(which made perfect sense, considering that's exactly what he was); his appearance had the odd combined aesthetic of _machine _and _organic_, making him seem considerably different than the others. There were no recognizable components on his body, nothing Sam could pick out as a wheel or a door or a windshield. 

"Uh, I guess so," Sam said, speaking at last. 

"Humble, of course," was the hearty reply. "Good to finally meet you, Sam. I'm Wheeljack."

"Nice to meet you, too," was Sam's hesitant reply. "You, um, look…_different. _ What do you – "

"Wheeljack has only just landed, as you most likely… heard," Optimus explained. "So, naturally, he is still in his Cybertronian state – his _protoform_, if you will. He has yet to select an Earth vehicle to mimic."

"Oh, I see."

"But I _have_ gotten some ideas!" Wheeljack said, sounding quite enthusiastic. "I searched the World Wide Web on my way here – you humans have designed some delightful automobiles! Amazing, really – very intriguing. A species so primitive, creating such attractive machines… I have much to learn and observe…"

Sam smirked and, out of the corner of his eye, saw that Ratchet had his arms crossed, looking very disgruntled. The boy wasn't surprised and, trying not to laugh at the medic's apparent state of discontent, said, "Well, Wheeljack – I can dish out some suggestions, if you'd like… I love cars…"

"Wonderful!"

* * *

Inside the sickbay, Bumblebee reclined quietly upon the recharging berth. Sam and the rest of the Autobots would be returning soon, to reactivate Jazz; time was running out, and Bumblebee realized that, if he was going to follow through with this, he would have to do so _now. _Silently, the Camaro activated his commlink, soon finding the bookmarked frequency that he had previously used to communicate with the injured Decepticon. 

_Tonight, Barricade. _

Bumblebee waited. He didn't expect a reply; in fact, he wasn't so sure that Barricade used the same wavelength anymore. Ten seconds passed, then –

_Taking pity upon me, Autobot? Is this a warning? _

_Call it what you will._

_How sickeningly kind of you, Bumblebee. _

The transmission ended abruptly, words replaced with muted static. Bumblebee shuttered his optics and sunk back into the berth, wondering what in the name of Primus he had just done.

* * *

"I was rather hoping you would arrive in time for when I reactivate Jazz," Ratchet said to Wheeljack as the group of Autobots shuffled back into the hangar. "I used a few… questionable methods to repair his body – I'm sure he'll be quite displeased – but I'll need you to back me up. Just don't turn it all to slag like you do half the time, okay?"

Wheeljack nodded and laughed. "You'll have to understand, Ratchet – I'm a little out of practice… so don't be surprised if there are a few… mishaps."

Sam was most amused to catch a quick glimpse of the medic's displeased expression before the Autobot grumbled, "Well – do try to _limit _said mishaps."

Behind the boy, Optimus and Ironhide were chatting in Cybertronian. Sam mentally cursed the alien language; unlike Spanish or French, he couldn't discern a word of it, with the rare, occasional exception being a noise he'd come to learn as the name of an Autobot or Decepticon. It was frustrating, and eavesdropping was entirely useless when Cybertronian was spoken. The topic at hand – the discussion between the Autobot leader and the weapons specialist – had to be of the important and private variety, as that was the only time when they used their native language. At the rear of the queue were Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, and from the lowered volume of their voices and the sneaky looks they were shooting toward Ratchet and Wheeljack, it was obvious to Sam that the twins were plotting something. 

_Well, something to keep spirits up, at least._

* * *

"_Interesting. _Ratchet, some of these components you've used to replace parts of his torso are – "

The medic nodded solemnly. "Yes. I had to retrieve what was necessary. Many of Jazz's mechanics were damaged beyond repair…"

Wheeljack smirked. "He's not going to like it."

"Oh, I imagine he won't."

Sam had been only partially listening in on the conversation between Ratchet and Wheeljack, and now the boy turned his attention to Optimus and Ironhide. The elder Autobots were speaking to Bumblebee, still conversing in, of course, the strange and foreign noises of their Cybertronian language. Sam couldn't help but notice that Bumblebee seemed to be acting different; subdued, perhaps, or aloof. He frowned. The Camaro was obviously hiding something; Bumblebee's initial reaction to the fact that Sam had shared Barricade's location had been _off_, and surprising, at best. _Something's wrong. Bumblebee, what –_

"Silence, everyone!" Ratchet's raised voice ripped through Sam's thoughts. With a sigh, he turned to face where the medic and Wheeljack were gathered around Jazz's unconscious form. "I am preparing to bring Jazz back online. Your complete attention is required – and that includes you, Sunstreaker. It has been a long recovery process – Jazz may be somewhat disoriented." Sam watched as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe moved closer to the recharge berth; Ironhide and Optimus stayed back, arms crossed, as if, over the millennia, they had become used to such events.

Sam, too, stayed back, watching with interest as Ratchet stooped over a console next to the berth, entering codes and pressing buttons, and at last disconnecting a wire that had been attached to Jazz's spark chamber. The Autobot's legs twitched, gears whirring to life, servomotors humming, charges of energon and electricity running through cables and wires once more. Blue optics slowly glowed back online before being covered again by the extending translucent visor; a garbled mix of Cybertronian and several Earth languages tumbled out of Jazz's voice processor before, "Wha – what in the hell?"

"Welcome back, my friend."

"Ratchet – ? Aw, _hell_, man – how long have I been out?"

The medic grinned. "Over two months."

"Oh – aw, heck, that is _not _cool, not cool at all…" Jazz leaned forward on the berth, bringing himself into a sitting position. "Wheeljack? When did _you_ bounce on over here?"

The scientist rolled his metal shoulders in a shrug. "A few minutes ago."

"Oh. And – oh, there you are, Optimus, my main man! And old Ironhide, too! And Bumblebee!" Jazz then pivoted his gaze to the two brightly-colored twins. "When in the fuck did _you _two show up? Was I the _only _one to get slagged in the battle?"

Optimus nodded. "It took Ratchet some considerable time to get you back to the state you are in now, Jazz. Megatron – "

"He fucked me up real good, didn't he?" Jazz laughed. "I can't even remember it. Kinda glad I don't. My mind was falling away from my spark, and – hey, that was it! Crazy shit, huh?"

"It was a challenge to repair you," Ratchet said. "I'm still monitoring many of your functions – to make sure the new components are cooperating with your mainframe."

"New parts? But where the hell – " Jazz's optics traveled down his chassis to his reconstructed torso; he frowned, then jerked with realization. "What the fuck, Ratchet? Just wait one sec! You ripped off chunks from the slagged Decepticons and attached them to _me? _What the hell? Where'd this cable come from, fucking _Megatron?_"

"I believe that belonged to Bonecrusher."

"You sayin' ya put pieces of that ugly mofo on _me?_"

Sam unsuccessfully stifled a chuckle. As sacrilegious as it seemed for Ratchet to use recycled parts from the fallen Decepticons to rebuild Jazz, it made perfect sense – where else would he find the necessary alloys and cables? Jazz's reaction, of course, was more than understandable; to be reconstructed from the very machines that destroyed him had to be awkward, if not infuriating. Next to the berth, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were grinning madly. Ratchet tried to ignore them.

"It was the only way I could bring you back, Jazz," the medic pressed, now sounding somewhat aggravated. "If you'd like, I can send you back to the scrap heap." The horrified expression on the Solstice's facial components said everything, and Ratchet smirked. "I didn't think so. And now, I think, it would be high time to fill you in on everything that has happened since you went offline."

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**A/N:** I'm sorry! I wanted to write more! But I couldn't keep you waiting! Jazz's lingo is gonna be a pain in the ass for me to write, but I'm getting there… Anyway. Comments? Questions? Concerns? Feedback? In other words, if you've read this far, and enjoyed it (or not), leave me a review. I'd like to know what you think of this story. I don't have an incredibly busy course schedule this semester, but as far as hanging out with friends and the like – well, hey, it takes up time, and it's sometimes hard to find a time and place to write away to my heart's content. But! It'll take me less than two weeks to post chapter eight, I promise. Thanks for reading!

Much love,

mo


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Long time, no update! It seems the average time it takes for me to add a new chapter to this story is two weeks, so that's what I think I'll be sticking with. You would be amazed – yes, amazed – to know how much work it is to be taking three in-studio art classes at once!

As for the 'fic, well – here's the eighth chapter. I wanted more to happen, but I also wanted to give Sam and Mikaela some time to interact and talk and just – you know, be friends like they should be. Thanks again to those awesome folks who read and choose to leave reviews – it brightens my day every time!

**Warnings:** This chapter is almost completely unobjectionable. It's also pretty straightforward, too.

**Disclaimer:** Transformers belong to Hasbro. (Unfortunately, so do My Little Pony and Furby.)

And – on to the story! Enjoy!

* * *

**Insignificance: Chapter Eight**

* * *

Sam was wrapping fresh bandages around his still-seeping wound when he heard the hum of a motorcycle engine swell to a roar then abruptly cease. He hurriedly taped the gauze tight, climbed to his feet, and hustled out of the sickbay and into the main hangar. The late-afternoon sunlight slanted blindingly through the gaping entryway, and, striding in, silhouetted against the brightness, was the slender form of Mikaela. Sam heard her shout his name – he saw the girl dashing toward him – and soon he was engulfed in a hug that rivaled even the embraces of his mother. 

"Sam! Oh, my God,_Sam!_" Mikaela clung to him fiercely, her nails digging into his arms, her forehead pressed against his neck. "I heard – there were eyewitnesses – they said it was horrible – oh, my_God!_" There was an odd gurgling sound, and Sam realized that his ex-girlfriend was sobbing into his shoulder, her tears soaking through his t-shirt. "Are you okay?!"

Sam nodded, somehow feeling serene, his eyes focused hazily on the bright desert vista outside. He could smell the strawberry aroma of Mikaela's shampoo, could feel her breath hot against his neck, her hands grasping tightly at his shoulders. "I'm – I'm fine, 'Kaela," he murmured. He didn't particularly _want _to relive the frantic horror he'd experienced several hours earlier, and up until this point, he hadn't actually _thought _about it. But Soundwave reappeared in his mind's eye, red optics alight behind his visor, menacing facemask covering whatever was beneath. The boy shuddered in Mikaela's embrace. 

"Tell me what happened, Sam," Mikaela urged, separating from him at last. "What they're saying out there – so many people saw what happened – it's crazy. There're all kinds of rumors flying everywhere – they're saying people _died_ – "

Sam heaved a shaky sigh, and decided to sit on the cool cement floor. "I got attacked by Soundwave – he's a new Decepticon, Mikaela. He's disguised as a dark-blue Jeep Cherokee, alright? I was caught completely off-guard."

"He _attacked_you? Sam, where were the rest of the Autobots? And Bumblebee?"

"Bumblebee and Ratchet were on patrol!" Sam snarled, sensing the accusation in the girl's voice. "Soundwave just managed to slip by, okay? Mistakes happen! I'm alive, and that's what matters!"

Mikaela turned away, looking hurt. "I'm sorry," she replied in a smaller voice. "It's just – I can't believe this…"

"We knew they were coming," Sam grumbled. 

"I – I suppose so." Mikaela sighed and wrapped her arms around her waist. "So – so what happened then, after – after you got attacked?"

"Bumblebee intercepted Soundwave just as he was about to kill me – but you've gotta understand – do you remember how the rest of the Autobots were saying how Soundwave has a shitload of, um, _miniature__troops?_ Soundwave sent out Ravage to attack me."

"And what in the fuck is Ravage?"

"Well – he's dead, now, Ironhide blasted him – but he was this – this mechanical panther-type thing. Like a robot tiger, or something. Fucking _fast_, and agile, too." Sam sighed and pointed at the bandage bound to his calf. Blood was already soaking through, again, and mentally Sam screamed at himself for allowing the injury to happen in the first place. "See this? He got me. Not badly, though, and he came close to frying me with his laser cannon, several times – but it's not _healing_, Mikaela."

"Wait – what do you mean?"

"My blood's not clotting. The fucking thing won't scab up, goddamn it! I've changed the bandage on it, what, six times, seven times already?" Sam slammed a fist on the dusty floor, feeling frustrated, exasperated, and fatigued. At first, he had thought Ratchet had been making a big deal about nothing, but as he continued to watch his blood seep slowly from the wound, destroying the perfect white of the sterile bandages, the more and more worried he grew. 

"You need to get to a _hospital_, Sam." Mikaela eyed the sullied gauze, flinching slightly with fear and disgust. "You could _die_from blood loss."

"I know! But what the hell is a hospital gonna do? There's something weird from Ravage that's infecting me – I don't know what it is – but it's not something some ordinary _hospital _is gonna know how to heal. It's – it's not that bad. It's not like the blood is fucking_gushing _out. It's just – kinda _weeping_, I guess." Sam heaved a miserable sigh and climbed to his feet once more. "And besides – we're attacking. Tonight. I wouldn't miss that for anything."

"What do you mean,_attacking? _Does Optimus know where the other Decepticons are?"

"Well – kinda." Sam wasn't about to tell his ex-girlfriend that it had been_Bumblebee _who had informed him of Barricade's location, let alone that the Camaro and the Decepticon had once been _lovers_. "We pretty much know where Barricade is. Remember him?"

"Barricade…?" A shudder coursed down Mikaela's spine and she grimaced. "The_police car? _Holy – the one that Bumblebee fought, that one night? The one that tried to fucking _kill _us?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. We know where he is, and Optimus says the Autobots are attacking tonight – before the rest of the Decepticons have found him and repaired him, that is, if they haven't already, though Bumblebee is pretty certain that – " Sam stopped himself, and judging by the perturbed look on Mikaela's face, the boy realized he had said too much.

"And how would Bee know, Sam?"

"Forget I said anything," was the disgruntled reply. "I'm fucking exhausted, alright? You have no idea how many times my life flashed before my eyes today. And – goddamn it, Mikaela, Soundwave – "

"What about him? Bee said he was telepathic – oh, my God, Sam, did he read your thoughts?"

Sam nodded dejectedly. "_Raped _them would be a more appropriate term. My brain is still a little bit hazy from the whole thing. If I'd been expecting it – if there'd been warning – maybe I could have stopped him – put up defenses – blocked it…"

Mikaela shook her head. "I don't think so, Sam – they're so powerful, you know? Even if you'd been prepared, hell, even if you'd _known _what to expect – there's no way – it'd be impossible. Maybe an Autobot, or another Decepticon could block him, but – no way, not a human."

"I suppose not." Sam glanced to the other end of the hangar, where the group of Autobots, minus the still-healing Bumblebee and Jazz, were deep in discussion. Wheeljack was still in his awkward-looking protoform, and Sam realized that before they left for the junkyard – or, at least, on the way there – they would have to find a vehicle for the Autobot scientist to mimic. "We've got some new friends over there, Mikaela."

The girl craned her neck and glanced over Sam's shoulder, her eyes resting on the brightly-colored forms of the Lamborghini twins and the unfamiliar form of the supposedly (or, at least, according to Ratchet) _mad_ scientist. "Who are they? Did they just arrive?" 

"The red one is Sideswipe. The yellow one is his twin brother, Sunstreaker. I'm not sure how long they've been here – one day, two days tops. Only just met them today."

Mikaela cocked an eyebrow. "Twins? They're robots. How in the fuck does that work out?"

Sam shrugged. "Don't ask me. It's probably got something to do with identical sparks. Or something. I have no idea. But – oh, my God, Mikaela, get this – they transform into the _coolest _things."

"Cooler than an unreleased Camaro?"

"Yes," Sam said with a laugh, "it's possible. They're _Lamborghinis._" He could barely restrain his glee, and in doing so, sounded like an overexcited seven year-old. 

Mikaela looked impressed. "Bitchin'. That's something you certainly don't see everyday."

Sam grinned. "I know. Sideswipe gave me a ride here, after I got attacked by Soundwave. If I hadn't just had the shit scared completely outta me, I probably would have enjoyed the ride a hell of a lot more."

"Who's the other one? He looks kinda weird."

"That's Wheeljack – according to Ratchet he's some sort of scientist. He just got here today – only about five hours ago, actually – so he hasn't picked another form yet. I promised I'd help him find a slick car."

"He looks interesting enough," Mikaela admitted with a nod. "Ratchet doesn't look too happy."

The boy chuckled. "Yeah, that's 'cause he's got the twins _and _Wheeljack to deal with – and – oh, this is the best news ever, you'll love it."

Mikaela crossed her arms and smiled expectantly. "Yes? Are you going to share or keep it all to yourself?"

"Jazz is back!"

"What? No way!"

Sam nodded. "_Yes_way. Ratchet just brought him back online – right after Wheeljack arrived, actually. I had no idea, but apparently Ratchet used bits of the dead Deceptions to put him back together!"

"What the hell?"

Another shrug. "I don't know. Jazz isn't too thrilled about it all. He and Bumblebee are both in the sickbay though, you know, charging back up. Getting ready for tonight's, um, confrontation."

"So I can't convince you to go to a hospital instead, then?" Mikaela asked, worry once again masking her features. 

"No. I've made up my mind. I've gotta be there."

Mikaela sighed. "Fine. I'll come along."

Sam jumped, slightly, and stared at his ex-girlfriend as if she was a strange and new life form. "What? No! No way! Mikaela, I don't want you getting – "

His words were cut abruptly short by a beautiful, albeit dangerous, glare. "Cut it with the bullshit, Sam. I was there for the last battle. I fucking_saved _Bee, alright? What if – what if things _escalate_tonight? What if it gets out of control? Sam, you can't stop me from going and – hell, if we get out of this alive, which we'd_better _– I'll be accompanying you to the nearest hospital, immediately afterward."

"Fine," the boy replied. "I guess I'd be a fucking hypocrite if I said you couldn't come along. I just don't want you to get _hurt_."

"I'll do my best to not let that happen." 

* * *

It was nearing eight o'clock when Wheeljack approached Sam and Mikaela, his facial components forming a mischievous-looking grin. "Sam! And this, I take it, is Mikaela?"

The girl nodded, and though her initial instinct was to offer her hand for a handshake, she realized such gestures just didn't quite work with giant alien robots. "Yes – um, I'm Mikaela Banes."

"My name is Wheeljack – pleased to meet you! I was wondering – Sam, you mentioned some ideas for an alternate Earth-vehicle form?"

Sam nodded vigorously. "Yes! I'd love to find you an awesome car to mimic – I've got some ideas – I know it's impossible for you to match what Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have got, but there's this sexy car – it's made by Chrysler, in Germany – and now I _know_ that doesn't mean anything to you, but… It's a nice ride. A sporty car. Relatively new."

Mikaela frowned. "Which are you talking about? Not that shitty _Sebring_ – "

"Nuh-uh – the Crossfire." 

The girl smiled widely. "Oh, I _so _approve, then."

* * *

The sickbay was quiet, removed from the hubbub and excitement of the main hangar. Jazz and Bumblebee were stretched out on their respective berths, their optics dimmed in partial recharge, weapons resting on a nearby console. "You and Soundwave, huh?" the silver Autobot asked. "Man, that musta been quite the rumble! He's, what, two meters taller then you? Heavier artillery, too."

Bumblebee nodded. "If Ironhide and Ratchet hadn't intervened, I probably would have been finished."

"Oh, I dunno, unless my circuits are scrambled, I remember you handed Barricade his ass a few months back." Jazz smirked, and with a groan turned on his side to face the other Autobot. "Fuckin'-_A_, I still hurt all over. Anyway, point I'm tryin' to make, Bee, you're a little stronger than you give yourself credit for."

"I don't know. Certainly not _mentally_."

"Hey, well, we're all a little crazy, right?" Jazz sighed and glanced down to his torso, as he had been doing periodically for the last several hours. "And here I am, brought back to life, pieced together from a buncha slagged Decepticons – and it's weird, ya know? Lotsa things have changed since I went offline. You still Sam's guardian?"

"Yes," was Bumblebee's reply. He wanted to say more, and he hesitated, half-formed words floating in his mind, before, "And then some."

"Huh? What're you sayin'?"

_Only Optimus knows_, Bumblebee said, deciding to use his internal commlink for the sake of privacy. _So don't leak this to the others, especially the twins. Jazz – I love Sam. He loves me back. _

_Wha – ? Bumblebee, are you shitting me?_

_No. _

_So then, you two – but how the hell does that work?_

_I don't know, yet. _Bumblebee sighed and shot the silver Autobot a purposeful look. _I don't know how it will work out, but we both want it. Not a word, Jazz, understand? Unless you feel inclined to discuss it with Optimus, for whatever reason. _

_I understand. _Jazz flexed his right arm, first rolling his shoulder, then bending the elbow and wrist joints, and finally clenching an unclenching his fingers. "Pain's not so bad," he said, wisely changing the subject. "It's really improved – Ratchet's unbelievable, even if he's a grumpy pain in the ass."

Bumblebee nodded. "I was nearly scrap, earlier this afternoon – I'd almost forgotten how incredible he is at healing."

"And Optimus says we'll leave to attack that son-of-a-bitch 'Con in an hour. I'm ready to fight, goddamn it! It'll be great to get back into the groove of things."

The yellow Autobot chose not to respond.

* * *

_It took you long enough to repair me, you useless piece of slag._

_Repairing the damaged is not my primary function._

_Yeah, you're right, or you would've done a better job._

Soundwave grimaced behind his facemask, mentally cursing the thought that Starscream could have fixed Barricade in a fraction of the time that it had taken him. But Starscream and his comrades had yet to arrive, and Soundwave was stuck in the scrapyard with the surly Saleen police cruiser. _It is sufficient enough, Barricade._

_I don't trust you. _The black Decepticon flexed his claw-like fingers, frowning at the dents and scratches that still marred his armor. In reality, Barricade was indeed grateful that Soundwave had decided to repair him, but the telepath didn't need to know such things and the overhauled Decepticon kept his mental firewalls on high. It had been torture, pure and humiliating _torture _to be stuck in a half-robot, half-automobile form for such a long period of time, and to be able to _walk_ – to be able to fire his cannons – Barricade smiled at last, turning red optics to the cobalt Decepticon that stood before him. _When do the others arrive?_

_Soon._

Barricade glared at Soundwave. _You are such a slagging idiot, sometimes. Insensitive, cold, stubborn –_

_Either way, even if I wasn't, you would still hate me._

_You've got that right. Everyone hates you, except Lord Megatron, and he's dead… _Barricade shot a shifty glance toward the telepath, then edged away to sit on the crumpled hood of a wrecked pickup truck. _I'm taking a short recharge. If you even _attempt_ to hack into my thoughts, I will destroy you._

Soundwave changed the subject. _We will continue to wait for them here._

* * *

It was ten o'clock when Optimus Prime rounded up the rest of the Autobots and crowded them into the hangar. Ironhide and Ratchet stood on either side of their leader, arms at their sides, looking proud and alert and ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were side-by-side, facial components twisted into grim smiles; Wheeljack was several feet away, still in his unfamiliar-looking protoform, arms crossed over his chest. Bumblebee and Jazz strode out of the sickbay, the latter walking gingerly on his feet for what was the first time in two months. Sam stood next to Mikaela, facing Optimus; he could feel his pulse quickening, beating against his neck. _It's happening now._

"You know why we are all gathered here," Optimus said plainly, his low voice even and strong. "Bumblebee, who will be leading the way, will carry Sam and Mikaela. I will transport Wheeljack until he finds a suitable vehicle to mimic. Sam, you said there is a location on our trajectory where he will find the proper automobile?"

"Yes," was the boy's reply.

"Very well, then." Optimus glanced to Ironhide at his right, then Ratchet at his left. "Autobots, transform and roll out."

* * *

"So I told your mom and dad you would be out for the rest of the night," Mikaela said casually, leaning back comfortably into the leather seat of the Camaro. "They were highly suspicious. Of you, I mean."

Sam shrugged. "Aren't they always? They've really been on my case for the last week or so." He sighed, feeling preoccupied, then murmured, "Did they hear about the attack, earlier?"

Mikaela shrugged. "I don't know. You said they were gone at the time – but there's no doubt that word's traveled. I mean, _I _heard about it, and I don't even live close to where the whole thing went down. I'm sure they know _some_thing's up."

"Great." Sam idly ran a hand over the warm steering wheel, his thoughts distant and distracted. His calf was starting to burn with a searing pain, and the bandage, which he had only changed ten minutes prior, was already feeling damp. Bumblebee drove along the dark byway, silently brooding, leading six other vehicles to an almost unknown destination. "Bumblebee, you've been quiet," Sam murmured. "What're you thinking?"

The Camaro hummed in thought. "Sam, I am not sure what to think right now." 

"What – why? You said yourself you were _hoping_ I'd tell Optimus where Barricade is."

"No, that's not it," Bumblebee replied. Sam felt his seatbelt tighten over his chest like a protective hug from a worried mother; sensed the air temperature and pressure in the cabin adjust itself to the point where it felt awkward and heavy. "I have committed several mistakes today, the most recent being more severe than anything I've done before. I only hope you'll forgive me when this is all over."

"Bee – what do you mean?"

Mikaela's frown deepened when the Autobot did not reply. "Sam? What's going on? You were being all secretive earlier, and now _this._ A little insight into the situation, _por favor_."

"I – I _can't_tell you, Mikaela."

"Why not?" She looked hurt and offended in the darkness of the cabin, her features lit only by the soft glow of the dashboard. "Why _can't_you tell me?"

"Because… it's between Bumblebee and – "

"Go ahead and explain the situation to her, Sam," the Camaro rumbled. "Mikaela has the right to know the _truth _of the being you have fallen in love with."

"What? But _Bee_, that was so _long _ago! Things have changed… right?" Sam crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the speedometer; its needle was pushing past 120 miles an hour, yet Sam felt stock still, caught someplace where he didn't want to be. "Did you_talk _to him again?"

"Will someone_please _tell me what the _hell _is going on?" Mikaela shrieked. "Bumblebee, Sam is completely avoiding the question, so why don't _you_ just tell me yourself?"

The car seemed to sigh. "If it is my duty… Before the war on Cybertron, the Autobot and Decepticon factions were only beginning to form," Bumblebee explained. "It was not wrong to associate with the other side, because the fighting had yet to start. Barricade and I were – how would you say it – in a _partnership _together."

Horror showed on Mikaela's face. "What? You mean you guys were _fucking_–?"

"Mikaela, Cybertronians do not _fuck _in the manner that humans and other organic life forms do – "

"Still, what the_hell_, Bee – "

"You asked."

"I didn't _expect_ – "

Sam spoke up in an effort to stop the oncoming argument between the Autobot and his ex-girlfriend. "Hey, Bumblebee, slow down, the Chrysler dealership is about two miles up ahead." The convoy of vehicles was quickly approaching a strip of auto dealerships and used car lots; a parking lot full of Fords flew past, its mercury-vapor lights blinding in the night; a Toyota dealer, a Subaru dealer, a Lexus dealer… None of the dealerships they passed looked anything like Bobby Bolivia's used car lot and petting zoo, and a brief smile flitted across Sam's features as he remembered how he and Bumblebee had first met… Up ahead, a Chrysler sign glowed in the night. "Here, Bee – turn right."

The Camaro obliged and Sam twisted around in his seat to see the rest of the disguised Autobots do the same. For anyone else who was watching, it must have been odd, to say the least, to see a line of mismatched vehicles pull into the lot of a closed car dealership; what business did a hulking semi truck and a search and rescue vehicle have there? Why on earth would the drivers of two _Lamborghinis _want to investigate a lineup of _Chrysler _products? As soon as Bumblebee came to a halt, Sam tumbled out of the Camaro, and jogged over to Optimus, who was still disguised as a truck. Wheeljack had been resting on the bed of the trailer for the entire ride, disguised in his Cybertronian alternate form. Sam hadn't been able to place a finger on what exactly Wheeljack had transformed into; the craft looked like it could hover, perhaps, like something out of Star Wars, but it appeared to be a cargo transport vehicle as well. Obviously, on Cybertron, they hadn't needed _wheels. _

"Make this quick, Sam," Optimus rumbled. "We have limited time. I would like to intercept Barricade before the military intervenes. It is of our best interest to limit the number of lives lost as much as possible."

Sam nodded. Optimus, it seemed, was well-aware of the fact that the night's confrontation could very well be much more than the simple destruction of one damaged Decepticon. "Right. Well, Wheeljack? Ready to see the sexy ride you'll turn into?"

"Oh, yes!" came an enthusiastic reply from the alien hovercraft. The clanking and whirring of Wheeljack's transformation sounded in the night, and a moment later, the Autobot stepped down from the bed of Optimus' trailer, blue optics glowing brightly with anticipation. "What are we looking for? All these vehicles are just fantastic!"

Sam laughed. "What, those shitty PT Cruisers over there? No, that's not what you want, Wheeljack! Not unless, you know, you want Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to _really _get on your case…"

"No, that would be most unfortunate!" Wheeljack agreed. "What about that fine vehicle over there?"

"That's a minivan," Sam stated disbelievingly. "_No._" They continued to walk through the rows of parked automobiles, Wheeljack plodding along loudly, until they reached a lineup of sports cars. "Those are Sebrings, over there. They're okay, but not _great._ Over _there_," Sam pointed at a Crossfire Coupe, " – _that_ is what you want."

Wheeljack nodded and considered the vehicle parked before them, observing its graceful and sporty-looking curves. "My diagnostics tell me it's a very fast automobile."

"It is," Sam said. "Probably not as fast as Bumblebee's alternate form, and certainly not as fast as the Lamborghinis – but it'll be powerful enough for you. Do _you _like how it looks?"

"Aesthetically, it's a very attractive car."

"Good," Sam replied hastily. "Now – er – do whatever the hell it is you guys do, and let's get on outta here." Wheeljack nodded in agreement and scanned the silver Crossfire that was parked before them. Sam watched with awe as the transformation took place; he had seen it happen countless times before with Bumblebee and the rest of the Autobots, but he never grew tired of watching such a fascinating and breathtaking spectacle of alien mechanics. Metal armor shifted and tucked itself away; weapons disappeared into holding docks; gears moaned and servomotors whined, until – there, parked in front of Sam, was a silver Chrysler Crossfire, an exact replica of the _real thing_, except _this_ one had a customized dark-green stripe running over its hood and canopy. 

"How do I look?"

"Awesome," Sam replied truthfully. "You might even make Bee jealous." Wheeljack's alternate form roared to life, engine thrumming loudly in the darkness. "Alright, we've gotta get outta here, before someone thinks we're up to no good. Er – take it easy at first, huh?" Sam had already heard stories from the other Autobots, tales of Wheeljack's mishaps when overzealously experimenting with new things. 

"Don't worry, Sam."

* * *

When Sam climbed back into the Camaro, he was greeted with a comfortable, contented silence. Mikaela was smiling vaguely, and Bumblebee hummed softly – but there was no arguing, no debating, nothing that hinted to the heated exchange that had taken place only minutes before. Sam blinked into the darkness, shrugged, and pulled the seatbelt over his waist. "Wheeljack's looking pretty sexy, Bee," he murmured with a smirk. "You might have a little competition."

The Camaro's engine surged to a roar. "Should I worry?"

Mikaela giggled. "Calm down, Bee, it's just a figure of speech." She turned to Sam and added, "Bee and I had a talk while you were showing Wheeljack around. We've kinda worked all the misunderstandings out – though he _is _still being a little sketchy about it all."

"We're all allowed to have our secrets, right, Bee?"

"Affirmative."

Mikaela shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine, be that way, I don't care – and besides, Sam, you missed out on all the exciting exchanges between Ratchet, Jazz, and the twins."

"Hmm? Why, what'd they say?"

"Sunstreaker managed to convince Jazz that his silver paint job isn't very…_fly_," Bumblebee stated, and Sam tried not to laugh at the Autobot's use of the outdated slang. "Sideswipe was then able to persuade Jazz to pin the blame on Ratchet for not upgrading his colors during the repair process."

The boy grinned. "That's not very fair…"

"Ratchet's gonna go insane," Mikaela said matter-of-factly. "Then Optimus joined the conversation and essentially told everyone to shut the fuck up."

"Speaking of which," Bumblebee said, "he's signaling for us to get a move on. Since I am leading the group, we must depart."

"Couldn't you just, like, send Optimus the coordinates to the junkyard, or something?" Mikaela asked, and Sam realized he had been wondering the same thing.

"I could," Bumblebee said, "and I would rather have that be the case. But Optimus wants to test me on what you humans call – moral fiber. I am afraid he will be most disappointed, in the end." Without elaborating any further, and leaving Sam and Mikaela both thoroughly confused, the Camaro circled around the odd grouping of gathered automobiles, then peeled out of the car lot and back onto the byway. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Sam saw the bright headlights of Optimus Prime and Ironhide, cruising side-by-side behind them. "Our time of arrival will be approximately twenty minutes," Bumblebee murmured. 

"Alright, then." Sam heaved a sigh and sunk back into his seat. He could feel the familiar dampness of the bloodied bandage on his calf, but the burning sensation of the actual wound had become dulled and distant. Even though Sam had brought a first aid kit along for the sake of replacing the bandages, he wasn't so sure he would have time to do so. _We're gonna destroy Barricade tonight_, he thought to himself. _That's just great. But will anyone else be there? What about Soundwave? He didn't just _disappear _after this afternoon – he had to go _some_where. Would he be able to detect Barricade's signal? Since he's a telepath, it wouldn't surprise me… _

Next to Sam, Mikaela brooded in thoughts of her own; her tanned arms gracefully hugged her waist, one long leg was crossed over the other, and a frown creased her eyebrows. The girl's gaze was turned toward the dim streetlamps that raced by in the night, but her eyes did not move, as if she was looking _beyond _everything around her. Finally, she released a soft sigh, tilted her head back against the headrest, and shut her eyes. 

A few minutes of silence passed. "Bumblebee," Sam whispered at last, hoping Mikaela had fallen asleep, "tonight's not gonna go very smoothly, is it?"

"No."

"How do you – "

"I made some mistakes, earlier today, Sam, but – " Bumblebee paused, in thought, then added, "I'll right them tonight, though. At least – I hope so."

"What do you mean?"

For the first time in several days, the Camaro's radio hummed to life on its own accord – the soft strumming of a guitar, a light percussion backbeat, then, "_Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear – And I can't help but ask myself how much I'll let the fear take the wheel and steer. It's driven me before, and it seems to have a vague, haunting mass appeal. But lately I'm beginning to find that I should be the one behind the wheel…_" 

The boy sighed. "I was missing your song answers for a while there, Bee, then I remembered you resort to music when you don't _want_ to explain yourself."

"I apologize," the Autobot replied. 

"No, it's okay," Sam said quickly. "If you want, we can talk about it later."

"_Charming song, there, Bumblebee,_" Sideswipe's voice crackled through the commlink. "_You almost got Sunny crying._"

Sam held in a laugh as another voice joined the conversation. "_Did _not!_ Bee, don't listen to my idiot brother._"

"I usually try not to," Bumblebee replied casually. "So sorry you have to hear to these morons, Sam."

A small smile touched the boy's features. "Oh, I don't know. I don't mind it much. Listening to them argue lessens the load, I guess." He sighed, trailed a hand from the steering wheel to the armrest, then turned his head and frowned into the leather of the driver's seat. "I'm worried about tonight, Bee."

"Try not to be," came the soft reply. "I will not let you be harmed, Sam."

* * *

Three F-22 Raptors tore through the night, the lights of Tranquility brightening as they closed in on the city.

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**Songs used:**

Incubus, Drive

**A/N:** I lurve feedback and I lurve reviews. And I would be ever so happy to receive some! I hope you enjoyed this (rather-short) installment… Yes, believe me, Chapter 9 will be awesome, I promise.

Love forever and ever,

mo


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Well, it's been close to a month since my last update – I apologize. This chapter's a long one, and I still wasn't able to fit in everything I wanted – and yet it took a terribly long time to write. Ugh, I am so sorry! But you'll forgive me, right? Right? Primus, I hope so! Delays are what happen when you're busy with university… In any case, the viewpoint here, though constantly third-person, does jump around quite a bit in this chapter, but I think it's pretty straightforward.

**Warnings:** Swearing, violence, et cetera, et cetera. The usual.

**Disclaimer:** They don't belong to me! But guess what? I did buy the DVD as soon as it came out! Holy crap, yesterday afternoon was the first time I'd watched the movie since early July!

Hmm, anyway – enjoy!

* * *

**Insignificance: Chapter Nine**

* * *

_This is a boring planet, Starscream. Why did you drag us here again?_

_Does it matter? I am your leader, and you will not question my decisions, Thundercracker. _

_Primus, when did _he_become so irritable?_

_Ever since he declared himself our ruler, I think. Then again, Skywarp, Starscream's always been on the ill-tempered side. _

_Will you two _silence_yourselves?! You're driving me insane! _

_Good._

The lead jet swore over the commlink, addressing his subordinates with select rude Cybertronian phrases before shutting the signal off. Starscream wasn't sure _why _he had ordered Skywarp and Thundercracker to accompany him to Earth; so far, there had been nothing but grumbling coming from the other two seekers, especially from Thundercracker. Starscream figured that his resurrected wing mate wasn't too keen on the idea of being destroyed again, but what did that matter? They were _Decepticons_, and the risk of being slagged was something they had to live with and accept! 

Still, the three of them were close, and had fought through countless battles together. Even if Starscream _hadn't _beenthe new ruler of the Decepticons, he was quite certain that Skywarp and Thundercracker would have come along anyway, out of the Decepticon equivalent of_friendship _and needing something to do. Starscream knew that he was hated throughout the Decepticon ranks, even more so than Megatron; his wing mates were the only ones who had remained completely loyal to him. Soundwave, on the other hand… Starscream hated the telepath, hated him with such a deep passion that, if the other 'bot wasn't so slagging useful in battle, he'd destroy Soundwave himself. Soundwave was dangerous and treacherous; he remained loyal to Megatron even though the former Decepticon ruler was dead. Starscream was certain that if Soundwave was given the chance, he'd shoot him, the new leader, in the back and attempt to take control of the Decepticons himself, in the name of Megatron, and so on, and so forth. Mentally, Starscream rolled his optics, thoroughly disgusted at the thought. 

Barricade, however, was a different story; Starscream held a certain amount of respect for the violent-tempered Decepticon. Barricade was a ruthless piece of slag – perhaps more ruthless than Starscream himself – and that, alone, was worthy of his attention. Barricade, however, operated on his own terms, and it was something that Starscream considered to be dangerous. If the stranded Decepticon proved to be trouble, Starscream knew that he would have no problem destroying Barricade, if it came down to that.

With a mental sigh, the lead jet switched on the commlink again, hoping to Primus that his wing mates were in a less mutinous mood. _Listen up, you two, and no talkback or else I'll slag you. I'm sending you the coordinates to our rendezvous point with Barricade and that idiot Soundwave. _

_Where'd you get the location? _Thundercracker asked.

_Soundwave. Barricade gave him the position._

Skywarp's voice came over the commlink next. _Wasn't there an Autobot involved? _

Starscream laughed. _Yes, there was. That fool Bumblebee, remember him?_

_Barricade's plaything, way back when? _Thundercracker asked incredulously. _No slaggin' way! Did he take pity on Barricade and give him some sort of warning?_

_Exactly, _Starscream replied, sounding thoroughly satisfied. _I guess he still harbors some feelings for the bastard. If we don't slag Bumblebee first, Prime will, when he finds out one of his own gave away the surprise. _Inwardly, Starscream smiled. He wasn't the sort to gossip, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. _And, if it wasn't enough for him to warn Barricade ahead of time – you won't believe this, especially you, Skywarp. Soundwave searched the human's mind earlier today, and discovered that Bumblebee and the human male – the one who destroyed Megatron – are carrying on a _relationship_ together._

_Primus, no, _Thundercracker replied. _That is – _

_They what?! _Skywarp's voice screeched over the commlink, cutting off Thundercracker's comment. _Oh, that's a new low for the Autobots! Tell me this is one of your stupid jokes, Starscream. _

_I am pleased to report that it is not_, the lead jet replied smugly. _It's just something else for us to use in our arsenal. _Starscream searched the airwaves, found Soundwave's signal, and sent a straight-to-the-point transmission of _ We're almost there. Prepare for our arrival. _

_I still can't believe it… _Thundercracker grumbled. _How do they –_

_I don't want to know! _Starscream snapped. _Why don't you ask when we arrive? Anyway, shut up, we're almost there, and I'm working on jamming their airwaves._

* * *

The entrance to the scrapyard was lit only by the ghostly orange glow of a single streetlamp. Inside the Camaro, Sam glanced at the darkened specters of the heaps of broken-down cars; the boy shuddered, tapped the sleeping form of Mikaela, and whispered, "We're here." The girl grunted as her slumber was broken, yawned, and blearily opened her eyes.

"It's dark," Mikaela murmured dumbly, her mind still fogged with sleep. "Where are we?"

Sam shrugged. "Some junkyard I've never been to before. It's kinda creepy." Bright lights illuminated the cabin of the Camaro, and the boy twisted around in his seat to see Optimus Prime and Ironhide, followed by the rest of the Autobots, pull into the lot behind Bumblebee. Sam leaned back into his seat again. "Well, here we are," he said, to no one in particular.

Bumblebee hummed for a moment, then cut his engine. "Odd," the Autobot murmured, sounding frustrated. "I can't track Barricade's signal. Either he's blocking it, or…" 

"Bee, think maybe all you guys should transform or something?" Sam asked worriedly. The way the headlights were reflecting off the chrome grilles and smashed windshields of the wrecked cars – the way the light glinted and refracted and danced across the dead, metal surfaces – it made Sam's skin crawl in a very unpleasant way. _We're in a graveyard. _

"I don't like this at all," Mikaela murmured. "I feel – " Her sentence came to an abrupt end, her arms fell, limp, to her sides, and her eyes glazed over into a glassy, faraway stare.

"Mikaela? Mikaela!" Sam unbuckled himself and tapped the girl softly, but she did not respond; he shook her, gently, then harder – "Mikaela! 'Kaela! Bee, what's going on?"

"Take her out of the car, Sam," Bumblebee commanded. "I need to transform. _Now_."

Chills of apprehension running down his spine, Sam scrambled from the cabin, raced around the hood of the Camaro, and yanked open the passenger-side door. He quickly unbuckled the unresponsive form of Mikaela and hauled her from the vehicle; seconds later, the air was filled with the clanking and whirring of simultaneous transformations. "Bee! What's wrong with her?! What's going _on?_"

His transformation complete, the yellow Autobot shifted nervously from one foot to the other, glanced to the rest of his companions, then turned back to Sam and his semiconscious ex-girlfriend. "My sensors are detecting the presence of Soundwave – chances are he has broken into Mikaela's mind. She was in the most vulnerable state, having just woken up." 

"What? No!" Sam cradled Mikaela in his arms. Her body was limp and her face slick with sweat; her eyes were still open in an eerie, dead sort of way. "Will she be okay?" As if to answer his own question, the girl groaned, words unintelligible, finally blinking her eyes back into focus. "M-Mikaela?"

"I – what… what – what _happened_, Sam? I – I was just – and t-then – oh – oh, my _God_…" Mikaela pulled herself to her knees, shudders wracking her slim body. "Cold… My brain – holy fuck, Sam, someone was _there_ – "

Bumblebee nodded. "Soundwave, Mikaela. I never should have agreed to bring you and Sam to this place." The Camaro turned and plodded to the rest of the gathered Autobots. "Sir, you saw – "

"Yes," Optimus replied. "I am sensing the presence of both Soundwave and Barricade – Ratchet?"

"Confirmed," the medic replied.

"What the – I can only read Soundwave's signals!" Bumblebee said, clearly irritated. "The bastard must be blocking me out!"

"It doesn't matter, Bumblebee," the leader said evenly. "Since both Barricade and Soundwave are here, this complicates things greatly. We must be quick." Optimus turned to Ironhide, Ratchet, and Wheeljack. "You three will be accompanying me. Jazz, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker – you three will be with Bumblebee, Sam, and Mikaela. I would prefer not to split our group up, but this is a large area to cover and we have very little time to act." Optimus turned to Bumblebee. "Should you encounter Barricade, do not let your feelings prevent you from following orders. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Keep the humans protected. If the situation gets out of control, I will signal the United States Military for backup." Optimus sighed, then added, "I only hope such complications do not arise. The Air Force could very well be on its way already." The leader turned to the rest of the Autobot soldiers. "Are there any questions before we get involved?"

"Your leg, Sam," Ratchet said from beside Ironhide. "Will you be able to hold up?"

Sam nodded, climbed to his feet, and helped Mikaela to do the same. "It's still bleeding. Doesn't hurt, though. I should, um, make it, for now."

"Anything else?" Optimus asked. Sam could hear the hum of charging weapons throughout the gathering of Autobots; Ironhide's cannons were already starting to glow white-hot in the darkness. 

"Yeah, why'd you have to stick us with Bumblebee?" Sunstreaker grumbled, ignoring the glare of his twin.

"My idiot brother is not speaking for me," the red Lamborghini said, his expression looking mutinous. 

"Me neither," Jazz added. "Unlike this yellow Lambo jerk, I happen to enjoy the company of Bee, here."

Ironhide sneered at Sunstreaker and brandished his charging cannons in a most menacing fashion. "If you'd prefer to be alone with _me_ and_Ratchet_, I'm sure we could arrange that." The yellow Lamborghini glared at the weapons specialist, then wordlessly stepped behind Sideswipe. "I'll take that as a no."

"In that case," Optimus said, "The time to act is now. Ironhide, Ratchet, Wheeljack – come with me. Jazz," he added, motioning to Bumblebee, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe, "you have command of this group. Keep all of your signals open – this could very well attract more of the enemy, but we cannot risk any more separation than we already have."

"Sure thing, boss."

Sam watched as Optimus Prime and Jazz exchanged a final, private goodbye over their commlinks, and could only wonder what words were being spoken. Then, as one, Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Wheeljack launched themselves into a deafening, clanking run, their metal forms disappearing into the darkness. Sam turned to Bumblebee. "What now?"

"Our course of action is Jazz's decision," the Camaro answered. 

"We go and fight, bitches," Jazz said plainly. "I scanned this dump before we arrived. Optimus took his group to the main holdin' yard, but there's another lot an eighth-mile southeast from here. That's where we're goin'." The silver Autobot turned to the Lamborghini twins. "I don't want any complainin' from you guys, either. Sam, 'Kaela – I can't leave you here. You're comin' along."

Sam nodded gravely. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, a cold sweat of dread chilling his spine. He could _sense _the presence of tangible evil, was aware of an outer being probing at his thoughts. _Fucking Soundwave, _Sam thought madly, _get the fuck outta my head! _The boy motioned to the sixteen-foot Autobot that stood directly behind him. "Will you give me a lift, Bee – to wherever the hell we're going?"

"Yes," Bumblebee responded, and promptly lowered a hand. Without hesitation, as such actions had been practiced between the boy and the Autobot a countless number of times, Sam scrambled onto the appendage; he was raised up, up – and Sam clung to Bumblebee's shoulder, fingers scrabbling at the heated armor. The Camaro tilted his head, then focused his optics on the second human. "Mikaela?" he inquired.

"Oh – oh, um, no – I'll, um – I'll walk, that's fine. I can keep up, I know Sam can't, with, um, his leg and all – " 

"Oh, hell, no, little lady," Jazz said, and crouched in front of the form of Mikaela. "You just had your mind tapped by a bastard 'Con! You can hitch a ride on me." She decided not to protest. As Mikaela was lifted into the air and placed atop the silver Autobot's shoulder, one of the Lamborghini twins – _Sideswipe, most likely, _Sam thought – made a noise that sounded like a mechanical wolf whistle. "As soon as it looks like we're about to engage in battle, though," Jazz added, his voice instantly gaining a more serious tone, "you and Sam have got to _scram. _If there's one thing I can tell ya, it's that _dying ain't fun._"

"I can imagine not," Mikaela said, her hands grasping tightly to Jazz's sleek frame. "Thanks for the heads-up."

At that moment, off in the distance, in the direction that Optimus Prime had led his group, an explosion rocked the night. For a split second, the fireball illuminated the piles of wrecked cars, its yellow reflection ghastly on dented steel and shattered glass. Perched atop Bumblebee, Sam jerked his gaze toward the bright flash of light; surprised gasps rippled through the group of Autobots, and seconds later another explosion shook the ground. "Jazz, shouldn't we – " Sam began, but the Solstice spoke first.

"Optimus says they've run into Soundwave!" Jazz shouted. "Barricade's closin' in and he's headed our way! C'mon, guys, follow me!" The silver Autobot broke into a trot, and Mikaela screamed at the sudden, jarring movement. 

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and clung to Bumblebee as tightly as he could; the cool desert air was rushing past his face, the deafening _clank _of sprinting Autobots was filling his ears, and another explosion – 

"Hold on, Sam," Bumblebee commanded as he pulled alongside the dashing form of Jazz.

"I'm holdin', I'm holdin'!" Sam screamed over the roar of moving machinery. "Goddamn it, Bee, what do you _think _I'm doing?!" The boy opened an eye and hazarded a glance behind him; Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were mere feet away, their bright colors dulled in the darkness of the night, their mouth components twisted into grimaces of anticipation. The rusted-out hulks of long-dead automobiles crunched beneath the feet of the attacking Autobots; their blue optics shone blindingly in the blackness.

* * *

Bumblebee ran a quick diagnostic of the human that was clinging to his armor. Sam's heart rate was greatly accelerated, his body temperature was higher than normal, and he was perspiring in great volumes. _Why did I agree to bring him here? _The Autobot asked himself. _I'm only putting his life in danger! It's doubtful that the Decepticons hold any personal grudge against him – surely _Starscream _considers Sam his hero! Why didn't I leave him behind, with his family? _

Another flash of light lit the night, and milliseconds later a booming explosion sounded close by. Bumblebee could hear the battle and the banter between Optimus and his soldiers through his commlink, but never before had the Camaro felt so removed from a fight. Their voices were tense and hurried; Ironhide sounded incredibly irate; Optimus seemed to have lost his normally controlled composure. 

_Ironhide, no! His cannon's too much! You cannot fight both Soundwave _and _Buzzsaw at once!_

_Just watch, Optimus._

_Don't be a slagging fool!_

Bumblebee shuddered and blocked the feed. Even though he himself was blindly hurdling into battle, the Autobot couldn't stand being only able to _listen _and not take action against Soundwave. Wordlessly, he dashed alongside Jazz, and could hear Sunstreaker and Sideswipe close behind, the twins for once not exchanging verbal barbs. 

"Helluva fight goin' on over there, huh?" Jazz asked, rounding a heap of rusty oven and refrigerator frames. "Old 'Hide sounds awfully pissed."

"I turned off the signal," Bumblebee responded, following the silver Autobot further into the shadows of the junkyard. "I couldn't take it anymore."

"Don't blame ya," the Solstice said. "Optimus is fuckin' crazy, puttin' me in charge after bein' dead for two months! If I didn't have to listen to his commands right now and lead you folks, I'd be turnin' off the feed too." Jazz glanced at Mikaela. "You holdin' up okay?" The girl nodded, looking pale with fear, but said nothing. "Good – Sunny! Sides! Got your guns set on _kill?_"

"Sure do, boss," the red Lamborghini replied. "Ready to fry some Decepti-scum."

"Yeah, if they don't fry _you_, first," Sunstreaker shot back.

"Oh, shut the slag up."

Bumblebee tuned out the rest of the conversation, and focused on the airwaves once more. He could still detect Soundwave's presence – along with several of his Cassetticons – but something new and familiar had appeared on Bumblebee's radar. Then, a signal.

_So glad you've returned, Bumblebee._

"Jazz! He's signaling – " There was a deafening crash and a high-pitched scream from Mikaela; all at once, gunfire filled the night. In a flash, Bumblebee ducked and dove to the ground, one hand securing the shouting form of Sam to his shoulder. "Sorry!" the Autobot said quickly. He swiftly yet gently placed the boy on the ground, returned to his full height, and added, as gunfire rained from _somewhere_, "Stay here, Sam. I mean it. Stay here with Mikaela, take cover if you can, and don't do anything stupid."

"I don't plan on taking on any Decepticons, Bee!' Sam shouted, though even Bumblebee could barely hear the boy's voice over the roar of Barricade's gatling gun. "Be careful!"

"You too." Bumblebee hesitated, knowing he should say something else, something more meaningful – but he didn't have the time, and besides, Sam_knew _he had the Autobot's love, and Bumblebee didn't consider himself to be the _mushy _sort… "I'll see you when this is over, Sam." 

"Yeah." 

"Bee! I've got him in my sights! Go! Go!" And it was Jazz's command that made Bumblebee turn from his human and dash with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe into the blazing, unrelenting gunfire.

* * *

Sam laid sprawled on the dark ground, the form of Mikaela several feet away. She was no stranger to battles between giant alien robots – she, like Sam, had been given a healthy dose of such two months prior – but from the corner of his eye, the boy could plainly see that his ex-girlfriend was terrified. For a moment, Sam shelved away all his worry for Bumblebee and brought himself into a recumbent position, propping himself up with his elbows. Smashed glass and bits of rusted metal poked through the sleeves of his sweatshirt and prodded at his skin, but he ignored the pain, and instead murmured, "You alright over there?"

Mikaela nodded slightly and hugged her legs to her chest. "We're alone, Sam," she whispered hoarsely. "The military hasn't picked this up yet, and even if they have – they… they won't be here for some time. And – what if there are _more _of them?"

"Of the Decepticons? But Bee and Optimus could only pick up Soundwave and Barricade – well, and Soundwave's little troops, too, but _besides_them – "

"No, but – what about Starscream and, uh – the others with _him? _What if they come – "

"I don't think we need to worry about them, yet," Sam murmured, and finally he brought himself closer to Mikaela. "They – no one was detecting them on their scanners."

"Perhaps…" Mikaela's voice fell away into a whisper as more deafening blasts sounded nearby, then, a moment later, "Judging by that gunfire, Barricade seems perfectly operational to _me_."

Sam nodded. "Weird, isn't it? That, and it's like he was _expecting _us. I mean, I'm sure Soundwave coulda given him the heads-up as soon as he met Optimus, but…" The boy frowned and pretended to show interest in the now-sopping bandage on his leg. "I dunno, I was kinda hoping to see Barricade in the hilarious state that Bumblebee had been describing – you know, half 'bot, half car."

"Did he say that? Yeah, it woulda been funny to see…" A ghost of a smirk flitted over Mikaela's lips, but Sam could almost sense the _sadness_in her smile. "You know how Bee – he was, well, you remember – he was saying how he and Barricade… used to be, um," the girl blushed at the word, " – lovers."

"Yeah – that… that was a surprise, for me," Sam admitted grudgingly. "I won't hold Bee against it, but what does that have to do – "

"What I'm leading to, Sam – you don't suppose Bee, um, gave Barricade _warning _that we were attacking tonight, do you?"

"Wha – why would he do that?" Sam promptly shut his mouth, though, and frowned into the darkness. _What if? What if she's right? _Sam's frown deepened. "Well, Bee _was _going on earlier about_making another mistake_…" He sighed, pried his eyes from the bloodied gauze on his calf, then grumbled, "I suppose it's a possibility, but _why? _Why put us all in jeopardy like that?"

"Well, think about it, Sam," Mikaela said, as if the answer was obvious. "If you knew you had to kill someone – a longtime friend, or a lover – without any warning, wouldn't you feel _horrible _about it? I mean – especially if he or she was asleep or defenseless… Now I know Bee and Barricade – well, it sounds like they ended things_ages _ago, but still… You know the term – give them a running start? Bee could have taken _pity _on Barricade, Sam."

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Sam remembered the conversation that he and Bumblebee had shared, in the middle of nowhere, several days earlier; that afternoon seemed like an_ eternity _ago. Sam had asked the Autobot why he couldn't destroy Barricade, and the answer had been simple: _"If Barricade and I again face one another in battle – with no advantage or disadvantage between us – I could fight. There is something so fundamentally wrong about cutting down your opponent when his back is turned, when he is in a weakened state that is not of your doing." _Exasperated and confused, the boy sighed and buried his face in his hands.

"You're thinking he did it, aren't you?"

Sam nodded morosely. "If – if Bee warned Barricade, it would have given him time to signal Soundwave, and get repaired. It'd explain why he's fully operational tonight."

Mikaela groaned. "Great – just great. We're fucked."

"Maybe so," Sam said. "But I know for a _fact _that Bee is gonna fucking _kill _Barricade tonight. He only wanted the battle to be fair."

"It's _hardly_fair if – " Mikaela's words were drowned out by a faraway roar that grew louder by the second. It took her several moments to realize what the howling noise was, then, "Sam! That's the sound of jet engines! D'you think the air force is here?"

The screaming jet engines drew closer, swelling to a deafening boom that shook the ground. Sam cautiously climbed to his feet, then helped Mikaela to hers. "I – God, I _hope _so, 'Kaela – sounds like a few F-22s – but I've got this feeling…" He found himself shrinking into the shadow of a rusted-out boxcar, eyes pointed toward the sky. The roar of the jets was ear-splitting, but Sam couldn't see anything – not in the night sky… "Mikaela," the boy said, trying his best to sound calm, "we are going to run. If Bumblebee warned Barricade, and Barricade told Soundwave – that would give time for Soundwave to signal Starscream. Starscream and whoever the hell he's bringing along are – "

" – all jets," Mikaela said, her eyes suddenly becoming very wide. "He's an F-22! Sam – but – _where? _Bumblebee told us to stay here – "

"He didn't know there'd be reinforcements!" Sam hissed. "Take my hand, 'Kaela – okay…" He gripped her hand in his, fingers intertwined and slick with sweat, the scream of the jet engines beyond deafening. Somewhere, there was the rumble of a sonic boom. "On three, we're gonna run – toward where one of the Autobots can protect us, okay? We _can't hide, _not from those things!"

Mikaela nodded haltingly, skin pale in the near-blackness. "One…" she started, her voice faint.

"Two…" Sam gritted out, his grip like a vice on Mikaela's hand. Then, an explosion, close by – _too _close – and without the need for a further count, they _ran. _Rounds and rounds of bullets spraying like fiery rain behind him, Sam sprinted, Mikaela dashing at his side, the roaring of three F-22s quaking the earth beneath their feet. A missile aimed unmistakably for them cut through the air and slammed into a heap of scrap less than two hundred feet away. Shouting, Sam and Mikaela dove to the ground, shrapnel falling around them; the F-22s screamed by overhead, cruising in the direction of the other battles. 

Fifteen seconds passed before Sam felt sturdy enough to climb to his feet. He ran a hand through his hair, then brushed bits of rusted metal from his clothes before exclaiming in a hoarse whisper, "Holy _fuck_."

"That was – " Mikaela shuddered, and trembling, she finally found the coordination to stand. "There's _three _of them."

"We're fucked," Sam whispered. "Absolutely _fucked. _Ironhide said there'd be two jets, not _three _– that's _not fair!_" The roaring of the jet engines suddenly subsided, leaving an odd, glaring silence in their wake. "Oh, crap, Mikaela – they've transformed. I can't stay here, and just wait!"

"What do you mean?"

He fidgeted. "I'm gonna go see what's going on. It's killing me, just standing here." Sam reached over and flicked a piece of rusted metal from Mikaela's hair. "If you want to stay here, and not risk it – I know I'm being a complete dick, but I've _got _to be there for this."

Mikaela's frown became a grim line. "Then I'm coming, too."

"You're sure?" Sam asked, feeling apprehensive. "I don't want you to – "

"Nope, don't try to change my mind, Sam, you tried earlier and it didn't work, and it won't work again." She wrapped an arm around Sam's waist, pulled him into a hug, and murmured, "Let's go."

* * *

"Slag! Get him! _Get him!_" Bumblebee helped Jazz to his feet then tore after the form of Barricade. The Decepticon was one sneaky bastard of a 'bot, and apparently had no intention of keeping the battle in one place. In a flash, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe transformed into their alternate modes, tires squealing and taillights slashing through the night they raced into the darkness to follow the escaped Decepticon. 

"Tricky motherfucker, don't ya think?" Jazz shouted to Bumblebee as they dashed through the heaps of accumulated junk. "Seems a little stronger than he was the last time we met him."

"I agree," was Bumblebee's yelled response. "He's changed! Maybe when he was repaired – " But the yellow Autobot's words were drowned out by a sudden ground-shaking roar, a low, screaming sound that swelled as it approached. "Oh, _slag _– "

"That ain't the military, Bumblebee!" Jazz shouted. "I'm gettin' a signal – aw, _shit! _That'd be Starscream!" The silver Autobot lurched forward then folded in on himself, becoming the Pontiac Solstice that he'd adapted as his alternate form. "Go, Bee! _Go! _The fucker's got Skywarp _and _Thundercracker with him!"

In a split second, Bumblebee transformed into the Camaro, tearing after Jazz. "But I thought Ironhide destroyed – "

"So did I! But that's obviously _not the case!_" As the two sports cars rounded the rusted hulk of a burnt-out eighteen wheeler, the rumble of the jet engines became almost too much for their audial processors to bear. The roar was deafening; it blocked out the faraway sounds of the battle with Soundwave and the thrum of the Lamborghinis' engines. Behind the accelerating Autobots was an explosion and a flash of orange light to accompany it.

Bumblebee spun to a screeching halt and sent a frantic signal to Jazz. _Sam and Mikaela! We left them back there! What if – ?_

_Don't think about it! Go! Go! _The solstice was accelerating again, drawing further away from the parked Camaro. _Move it, Bumblebee! GO!_

_But Sam – _In his readout, Bumblebee saw the three F-22s approaching at breakneck speed. Their weapons systems were engaged, gatling guns drawn; the maniacal laughter of the three seekers flooded the airwaves as they released a volley of gunfire into the night. Bumblebee's engine roared back to life and he peeled around a heap of sandwiched cars, Jazz's taillights reappearing in the darkness. As the ground behind him flowered into bright explosions, Bumblebee convinced himself that Sam _had _to be alive. The boy was smart, and careful, and had survived Barricade and Megatron and Soundwave… He _couldn't _be dead, and besides, Sam wasn't what the Decepticons had come for in the first place. Pulling up alongside the Solstice, the Camaro swerved to dodge another volley of gunfire, barely avoiding slamming into Jazz. 

_Whoa there, Bumblebee!_

_Sorry! Overcompensated! Is that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe ninety meters ahead? _Bumblebee's optics could just make out the twin sets of taillights belonging to the Lamborghinis.

_Yeah, that's them. Right on Barricade's tail, too. _

_He's leading us to the other fight! _Bumblebee floored it. With an electronic cry, the Autobot put his already-straining system to the test and pulled in front of Jazz. Overhead, the three Decepticons screamed past, showering the ground with more volleys of gunfire. The engines of the F-22s glowed in the night before the sound ceased and the jets seemed to disappear. For a fleeting moment, Bumblebee was confused. _Where…? _Realization struck the yellow Autobot like a cannon blast to the face. _Oh, slag, they've transformed! Jazz, this is going to get bad!_

_We're already at that stage, Bee! _The Solstice shot back, pulling even with the Camaro again. _Three jets, Barricade, Soundwave, _and _his pets! We're fucked!_

* * *

Throughout the endless war that had stretched on between the two warring factions of Cybertronians, Optimus Prime had feared only one Decepticon. It wasn't Megatron, a leader Optimus considered to be powerful yet extremely _flawed _– it was Soundwave, with whom he was presently grappling. The telepath was dangerous, _incredibly_dangerous, and despite his neutral appearance and emotionless voice, he was extremely _cruel_, as well. Soundwave's role in the Decepticon rankings was questionable, at best; whether his position was higher than that of Starscream's was often left open to debate. Optimus had always thought Megatron respected Soundwave more than his second in command (much to Starscream's chagrin) and was certain there was considerable tension between the two Decepticons. 

"Give up, Prime." Soundwave's monotonous voice cut through Optimus' thoughts and the Autobot leader returned to reality, suddenly becoming aware of the strong, metal fingers that held his arms in a vice-like grip. 

"No," Optimus replied simply, throwing his weight against the smaller 'bot. Jarred loose, Soundwave crashed to the ground, though the impact seemed to have little effect. "Why are you here?" the Autobot demanded, leveling a gun at the cobalt Decepticon. 

"First component to our mission: destroy the remaining Autobots." With surprising speed and agility, Soundwave leapt back to his feet, plowing into Optimus' torso. Metal grinded on metal as the two 'bots fought for ground, the screeching, grating friction between them producing sparks. "Second component to our mission: find an additional source of energy."

"So you plan to suck this planet dry of its resources? I should have known, the scum that you Decepticons are – " Optimus meant to say more, and Soundwave had already been formulating a cold response, but the sudden roar of jet engines in the distance silenced both 'bots and brought their wrestling to a grating halt. Meanwhile, Ironhide, who had just finished in dispatching the cassetticon Laserbeak, slowly lowered his recharging canon, a mixture of worry and disbelief showing in his optics. Ratchet ceased his tussle with the much-smaller Rumble; Wheeljack shifted his attention from the hovering form of Buzzsaw and instead focused his gaze to the black sky. 

The reverberation of the approaching jets grew louder. 

For a brief instant, Optimus expected the new arrivals to be the United States Air Force, there to help at last. But a sudden dread seized the Autobot's spark and he knew – _knew _– that such luck wasn't the case. Optimus frowned behind his mask, then turned his attention back to Soundwave and demanded, "Is it them?"

Soundwave made a noise that could have been a chuckle – Optimus wasn't sure – and said evenly, "What do _you _think?"

Nearby, there was an explosion, in the direction that Jazz's group had gone to stake out Barricade, and then, over the commlink, a burst of static and a cackle of laughter. _Long time, no see, Prime!_

_Starscream!_

_Oh, yes. And I've brought two friends along for the ride. _

There was another laugh on the wavelength; Optimus recognized the voice as belonging to Skywarp. _What a pretty planet, huh? I'd _really _like to thank the Autobot who warned us of the attack ahead of time!_

Optimus gasped and lost his grip, effectively pushing Soundwave to the ground in surprise. _What?_

_You heard me_, Skywarp responded. And then the Decepticon promptly filled the signal with horrible, screeching Cybertronian music, the kind Optimus hadn't missed in the years following the destruction of his home planet. The Autobot leader cringed and blocked out the transmission, his audial systems already overloaded with the roar of the approaching jet engines. Who had betrayed their cause? Had someone actually warned the Decepticons of the Autobots' arrival, or was Skywarp just spewing the same old slag, as always? 

There was no more time to consider such matters. The ground shook beneath Optimus' feet; Soundwave lowered his canon and turned his red visor to the sky; the lights of the three approaching F-22s appeared over the mounds of wrecked cars. Optimus unblocked the signal, was thankful to find that the Cybertronian music had long since stopped playing – most likely on Starscream's orders – and sent a rushed message of _I want a dialogue._

_Ask and you shall receive, _Starscream replied. _I'd like to chat anyway before we turn you all into heaps of slag. _

_How considerate of you. _Optimus watched the three dark forms of the jets hover above the battle-scarred clearing, their lights silhouetting their sleek forms against the black sky. Fighting amongst heaps of rubble, smoke wafting to the heavens, the stench of scorched metal flooding his olfactory sensors – the scene brought back memories of the battles on Cybertron, where so many friends and fellow soldiers fell… Optimus did his best to push away the fiery flashbacks of death and destruction, but he couldn't stop his thoughts from drifting to Jazz and the group of Autobots and humans his second-in-command was leading – where _were _they? Either the signal had been cut, or the Decepticons had blocked it, or –

No, Optimus decided, he would have _felt _it if others were gone. They couldn't_possibly – _Again, his thoughts were interrupted as the screaming of the jet engines was suddenly replaced with the distinct whirring and clanking of simultaneous transformations. Seconds later, three towering Decepticons crashed to the ground, weapons drawn, red optics glowing in the night. 

"Good evening, Prime," Starscream drawled. The transformed F-22 turned to Soundwave and briskly commanded, "Put your creations away. We will not be needing them right now."

Optimus could sense the tangible hate between the two Decepticons as Soundwave wordlessly obeyed the order, sending a silent signal over the commlink that brought Buzzsaw and Rumble back to his side. Rumble, who was as jocular as his brother Frenzy had been psychotic, crossed his arms over his chest in a most disgruntled fashion; Buzzsaw hovered above Soundwave, the small, vulture-like Decepticon's guns still leveled at Wheeljack.

Ironhide, Ratchet, and Wheeljack slowly plodded toward Optimus, the three of them standing in front of him in an apparent stance of protection. Of the four Autobots, Ironhide was the most damaged; his armor was scuffed and dented from a previous wrestling match with Soundwave, and one of his cannons was completely destroyed. The weapons specialist sneered at the new arrivals. "Prime, can we slag them now?"

"No," Optimus replied, and turned his optics back to the three seekers and Soundwave. "I requested a dialogue. Starscream is willing to comply before he attempts to kill us all. I suggest that, as their hosts, we be courteous…"

Ratchet was barely able to stifle a laugh at Optimus' obvious sarcasm, though the irony of what the Autobot leader had said was completely missed by Ironhide. The Topkick extended a blast-scarred arm and pointed it, cannon and all, at the third, unexpected seeker. "And just what in the_slag _are you doing here? I destroyed you!"

"The _Pit _you did!" Thundercracker spat. "Look, Starscream, the old 'bot is malfunctioning."

"Technically, if the damage was minimal, Thundercracker could have been rebuilt – " Wheeljack began, but was swiftly cut off with a deadly glare from Ratchet. 

"Your scientist is correct," Starscream hissed. "Unlike you, Ironhide, I make sure my quarry is indeed dead."

"What in the name of Primus do you mean by _that?_" Ironhide shouted, and it took both Optimus and Ratchet to restrain the irate Autobot.

Skywarp snickered darkly. "We intercepted that student of yours on the way here," he explained. "Starscream has one slag of a shot, you know."

"Perfect aim," Thundercracker agreed, grinning. 

The lead seeker nodded to his subordinates and brushed their comments aside. "What can I say? She was an easy target."

White-hot rage burned inside Ironhide's spark; he tried to tear himself free from the iron holds of Optimus and Ratchet, and would have succeeded had Wheeljack not offered his help to hold back the infuriated Autobot. "You_destroyed_ Arcee?!" he howled. "I'll kill you! I'll _kill _you!"

"He made a joke," Thundercracker observed lightly. "How nice."

Starscream scowled. "Enough of this. Prime, the rest of your convoy is on its way – in fact, they should be arriving here very shortly."

Optimus stared at his opponent. "You didn't _obliterate _them when you had the chance?"

"No," the Decepticon replied plainly. "I could have – but I wanted to pay our informant the proper gratitude that he deserves. There were a few fleshlings infesting the area, though. One of us might have hit them, I suppose. The inhabitants of this planet are terribly_slow_." 

"You nasty 'Con bastard!" Ironhide growled. "You slagging piece of sh – " The squeal of several sets of tires cut across his words; as one, the group of Autobots and Decepticons turned to watch as a Saleen Mustang patrol car, followed closely by two Lamborghinis, spun into the clearing, tires sending up clouds of dust that were illuminated in the glow of various headlights. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe instantly transformed, weapons pointed at Barricade, who was still in his car mode, howling with exhilarated laughter. A split second later, Jazz and Bumblebee peeled into the fray, the sports cars unfolding at once into their bipedal forms, guns and cannons pointed at the Decepticons. 

Optimus Prime allowed himself a sigh of relief. He had taken a risk – a _huge _risk – in putting Jazz in charge of the other unit. The Solstice had only been brought back online earlier that day and it was likely he was still very rusty in some respects; but Optimus hadn't been comfortable in assigning Bumblebee the title of commander, not this time, not for this assignment… There were too many suspicions, too many unasked and unanswered questions. Quickly, before things turned any uglier, the Autobot leader sent Jazz a private message over the commlink. _What is the status of everyone in your unit? Are you okay? _

_Holdin' up fine, boss, _the silver Autobot replied, moving closer to the rest of his comrades. _Didn't exactly fight yet – not hand-to-hand, at least. Damn mofo wouldn't keep still!_

_We didn't receive any signals from your unit –_

_Yeah, they blocked us. Nice guys, huh?_

_Quite. _

Starscream considered the new arrivals with slight interest. "So I see you brought your second-in-command back to life. Touching…" The Decepticon moved his deadly, red optics to the twin Lamborghinis, and nodded slightly. "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe – it _has _been a while, hasn't it? But it would be too much to hope that you've refined your _jet judo_…" 

"If we're gonna have a dialogue, then it's sure as hell not gonna be _this!_" Sunstreaker shouted. "Optimus, what the Pit is _Thundercracker_ doing here?"

"He was not destroyed as Ironhide previously thought," was the solemn reply. Optimus turned back to the group of gathered Decepticons, pretending to take interest as Barricade finally transformed into his 'bot mode. "Before you decide to blow us all up, Starscream, let's _talk…_"

* * *

For the first time that night, Sam felt _safe_. It was odd, really, because he and Mikaela were alone and wandering through a dark and abandoned scrapyard, barely avoiding bumping into the rusted-out hulks of cars in the blackness of the night. The explosions had long since ceased – they had cut out as soon as the jet engines had silenced themselves – and Sam figured that the Cybertronians were talking. How civil could a Decepticon really be? They weren't _savage_creatures – the evil 'bots were just as intelligent as their heroic counterparts – but could a bastard like Starscream seriously carry on a conversation with his sworn enemies? Sam knew that Optimus Prime, with his eternal views that anything sentient was worth giving a chance to live, would be very much inclined to have a dialogue with his adversaries, but as for a treacherous Decepticon… 

And somehow, even with no Autobot to guard him from any potential harm, Sam felt _safe. _He knew that all the Decepticons who were meant to arrive on this night were already gathered up ahead, engaged in discussion or battle or – or _whatever _– with the Autobots. He and Mikaela were safe. They could turn around, they could leave, go home to their families, be protected – at least, temporarily – but something prevented Sam from doing just that; he was far too attached to Bumblebee – too much in love, in more love than he wanted to admit, even to himself – he couldn't _turn his back _on such an important night. The boy's brain ached to know what words were being exchanged – what did beings who had been enemies for millennia upon millennia talk about before a potentially end-all battle? In reality, Sam knew very little about any of the Autobots, besides Bumblebee – and even then, he was certain there were many details he _didn't _know. What history did they have with the Decepticons? Had Optimus, like Bumblebee, once been friendly with the Cybertronians that later identified themselves as the enemy? 

As far as knowledge of the Decepticons went, Sam had hardly anything to run on. He'd picked up on some things, from listening to casual conversations between the Autobots; but, as it was with humans, word-of-mouth wasn't a reliable source of information, not even if it was being passed between giant, alien robots. Sam knew more about Barricade than any of the other Decepticons, thanks to Bumblebee and the twins. Soundwave, perhaps, came in second – he'd met the 'bot face-to-face, after all, and the experience had been nowhere _near _pleasant. But Starscream, Skywarp, and Thundercracker, if that was indeed the identity of the third jet – they were a mystery to the boy. 

"Sam – maybe – maybe you can let go of my hand, now." Mikaela's soft voice sliced through Sam's brooding, and it took him several seconds to realize that he'd been gripping the girl's fingers so tightly that they'd begun to turn white. 

"I – sorry, Mikaela," he murmured embarrassedly. "Old habits die hard, I guess, when you're being chased by evil robots."

Mikaela smiled into the darkness. "Yeah – I guess so. We're almost there."

"I know." Sam hesitated, scratched his neck uncomfortably, then said, "Um – well, 'Kaela, you can turn back now, really. I know you'll shoot me down again, but I thought it might be worth a try – "

"Nope." She shook her head. "You're right, I'm not leaving. I love you Sam, you know that. I always will, even if – even if, well… yeah…" Her voice faded away, swallowed by the blackness that enveloped them. "I'm not going to ditch you, not now."

Sam paused in his walking, and turned toward his ex-girlfriend. "Um, 'Kaela – when Soundwave broke into your mind – what – what did you see, if anything? I mean, if you don't mind me asking, that is."

"I don't mind," Mikaela murmured. "Actually, I was _wondering _if you were going to ask. I saw a lot of things, really. It was all blurred together – I don't know if that's how it was like when he read _your _mind, but – you know, _flashes. _Like my life was a filmstrip, flashing before my eyes." She shrugged her slender shoulders and motioned for Sam to resume his walking. "I saw stuff that I'd completely forgotten about – memories from my childhood, for example, before my parents got divorced… Times when I'd ride along with my dad on one of his car-stealing exploits… Drama from high school… You, of course – and then that time when Barricade tried to kill us – and Megatron and the battle in the city – and Bumblebee, dragging himself on the street after he got hit…" Her voice turned to an inaudible whisper. 

"That's – um, well, that's a lot," Sam admitted, subconsciously taking the girl's hand in his once more. "You looked so gone when it all happened, Mikaela – I had no idea what was going on – you just kinda… collapsed."

"I looked pretty ridiculous then, huh?"

Sam nodded, feeling an unfamiliar grin tug at his features. "Yeah, you did. Though I'm sure, when it happened to me, I probably looked even worse." 

Hand-in-hand, the two small humans plodded on through the darkness, weaving their way between towering piles of scrap metal, headed for the clearing where much greater battles were waiting to be fought.

* * *

"Bumblebee – what Starscream is saying – is it true?" Optimus was staring at the smaller Autobot, blue optics drilling holes through his seemingly impenetrable armor, the disappointed tone of his voice more dangerous than his charged weapons. 

Bumblebee's spark went cold. He _knew _this was going to happen – he _knew _that his actions would garner severe and unsavory consequences. But Bumblebee hadn't anticipated so _much _happening because of a simple warning. How was _he_ to know that Soundwave would show up? _No_, the Camaro told himself, _I should have seen that one coming. Soundwave was already here, of course he would come to Barricade's aid._ But Starscream and his wing mates? That was a complete surprise. How could he have foreseen _them _showing up to fight? Bumblebee shifted his gaze to the ground, away from the leering Decepticons, away from Optimus' questioning stare. _I am so slagged_, he thought humorlessly. _Prime is going to offline me. _

"Answer me, Bumblebee."

"I gave a warning," the yellow Autobot admitted at last. 

"And _what _a warning!" Barricade jeered, sounding completely thrilled with himself. "To give Bumblebee credit, Prime, he didn't right-out_say _it was a warning; I interpreted it as such. I happened to be right, and besides, I _know _this Autobot piece of scum better than any of you. He _would _be the sort to feel pity for the enemy."

"Slag off, Barricade," Bumblebee grumbled. He tried to ignore the murmurs of surprise and protest coming from the rest of the Autobots; while Optimus had chosen to remain silent, Ironhide was very vocal with his opinions on the whole matter. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged a dark, mutinous look, and Jazz stood there, disbelief and disappointment written all over his features. Bumblebee wanted desperately to be slagged right there, on the spot. "I know it means nothing, sir," he continued, addressing Optimus, "but I apologize. I have no excuse for my behavior. And I am prepared to take full responsibility for my actions."

"We will discuss it later – " Optimus began, but Ironhide cut over him.

"Assuming there _is_a later! We're slagged, Prime."

"We aren't done yet, my friend."

"I hate to interrupt your argument," Starscream interjected, "but we have two new arrivals joining our party. You might want to protect them, Prime, before one of us decides to use one of your organic pets as target practice."

At these words, Bumblebee wheeled around, only to see Sam and Mikaela emerging from the deep shadows, their faces coated in dust, fear showing in their eyes. The yellow Autobot nearly fell forward with surprise, but in an instant, the surprise was replaced with fear, then replaced again with anger. "What are you _doing _here?" the Camaro hissed, sounding frantic. "I _told _you to stay away – "

"Bee, we couldn't help it, I – "

Optimus threw a dangerous look over his shoulder, optics boring through the darkness. "Sam, Mikaela – it is not wise for you to be here. I suggest you seek out a safe place – "

"Prime, isn't it_obvious _they want to play?" Starscream cackled. His red optics leered their way, and Bumblebee, caught between the forms of Sunstreaker and Jazz, felt trapped, incredibly trapped; guilt was building inside his spark, and he wanted to transform into his Camaro mode and drive Sam and Mikaela away, _far_ away…

* * *

In the months that had passed since the showdown in Mission City, Sam had forgotten how _huge_Starscream was. F-22s were terrifyingly large enough, but the transformed Decepticon had been gigantic, more monstrous in size than even Optimus Prime… And now, standing before him, were _three_transformed F-22s, taking up as much space as ever. Sam recognized Starscream right away; the Decepticon hadn't changed in appearance or posture – _He's still standing tall and proud and defiant, _the boy thought – although Sam was suspicious that the jet's coloration had changed, but in the dimly-lit scrapyard, he couldn't be certain. The other two seekers had identical body shapes, but Sam could spot differing guns and armaments sticking out here and there – personal preferences of how to kill and destroy. One of the jets, the one standing to Starscream's left, his arms crossed impatiently over his chest, had what _looked _like a predominantly blue paintjob, but again, in the darkness, Sam couldn't be sure. The other jet was colored, peculiarly enough, a hue that Sam was _certain _was purple. 

Odd color choices or not, the three transformed F-22s were terrifying.

Sam remembered the ruthlessness of Starscream in Mission City. Though he himself hadn't dealt with the seeker, as he had been busy running from Megatron most of the time, Sam _did _recall how the F-22 had sheared Bumblebee's legs off with his missiles; he remembered how Starscream had strafed the city, disguised as an ally from the United States Air Force, destroying the _real _F-22s that had come to help. The Decepticon in question glared his way, optics lingering far too long on the girl beside him. "Mikaela… you should go," Sam whispered tersely. "Really. Before stuff gets any worse…"

She tightened her grip on the boy's arm. "It's too late for that."

Sam's brain, short-circuiting with panic and terror, couldn't formulate a reply. It was Starscream who spoke next, gesturing to his wing mates, then Soundwave and Barricade. "The pleasantries are finished, Prime. Decepticons, attack! Fire at will!"

The night sky instantly blossomed into fiery flashes of red and orange. Sam dove to the ground, bringing Mikaela with him. Silhouetted against the hellish explosions and the dancing flames, Sam could see the forms of the Cybertronians, Autobots and Decepticons alike, engaged in reckless battle. There were no bystanders present and therefore no other human lives at stake, and so Optimus did not hold back like he had two months prior. Sam watched the transformed Peterbilt truck clash with the angular silhouette of the Decepticon he assumed to be Starscream, attacking with so much ferocity that the boy found himself strangely _frightened _of the Autobot leader. Together, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe teamed up against one of the other seekers –

But they were small, _so small_, compared to the F-22… 

Sam saw Ironhide take fire from Soundwave; the weapons specialist promptly returned it, down one cannon, yelling something about Arcee and wanting to face Starscream alone. Ratchet and Wheeljack exchanged blows with the third jet, Jazz was grappling with Soundwave's creations, and – 

Bumblebee and Barricade were whaling on one other, their intent beyond meaning to kill. Sam realized, with a jolt, that the goal of their battle was_obliteration. _Twenty-five feet away, a car burst into flames. Sam yelped, climbed achingly to his feet, and darted to a more protected vantage point, Mikaela close behind. The boy watched, half-fascinated and half-horrified, as the Camaro and the Mustang battled at point-blank range, laserblasts and gunfire slamming into one another's bodies, metal grating against metal, neither 'bot giving an inch. Sam had forgotten how _loud _it was when a dozen Cybertronians fought simultaneously; the clashing of metal and the booming of explosions was just as deafening as the incoming F-22s had been. 

Sam forced himself to look away from Bumblebee and Barricade's death match; there wasn't anything he could do about it anyway. Who had he been fooling? Sam had been important in the battle two months before – it had been_personal_, that time, and it had been necessary for him to be there; but tonight, he was a witness, a bystander, someone gawking at the explosions, worrying about circumstances he couldn't control. There was no _reason _for him to be here, no reason at all, other than –

_Other than love, _Sam reminded himself, his thoughts sober. A pained sob wracked his body as he watched one of the seekers easily maneuver himself around Sideswipe's cannon blast, leaping into the dark sky and transforming, airborne, back into his F-22 mode. The battleground was shelled, blinding explosions mushrooming skyward; Sam's ears were ringing too loudly to fully appreciate how deafening the eruptions had been. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe took off after the transformed seeker, the red taillights of the Lamborghinis striping through the night. 

He felt _cold_, lost… Huddling against the shadowed form of Mikaela, Sam brought his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs – and saw the bandage on his calf, slipping away, saturated with blood… The boy moaned. It was finally catching up with him, the blood loss and the alien virus that was causing his condition. " 'Kaela," Sam murmured darkly, "I don't know if I'll make it through tonight."

The girl sighed, somehow looking just as beautiful even though her tangled hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat. "I don't know if any of us will."

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**A/N:** Crap! What a bad place to end a chapter, huh? However, a 22-page chapter is frankly too long, and I didn't want to stretch the delay any longer! A note about our two seekers – yes, I wanted to color them with their G1 paintjobs. Now I know a black-and-purple F-22 is certainlyquite conspicuous, but are these guys really hiding from the Air Force any more? I don't think so. And speaking of the Air Force, are they gonna help out? How's that battle gonna go? What about Sam and Mikaela? You'll see soon (and by soon, I do mean in less time than a freakin' month), I promise!

The fact I've got the DVD and have easy access to watching the movie has definitely inspired me to finish this up. I'm thinking two more chapters. Maybe three. We'll see. Next chapter's gonna be pretty effed up, believe me.

Now, since you've read this far, I'm assuming you're enjoying this story! Well, maybe not. But either way, please, please, please leave me a review – any feedback is loved so much, seriously. I don't know if I can stress that enough!

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Love forever,

mo


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I return with Chapter 10

**A/N:** I return with Chapter 10! I've put a lot of time and thought into this one, and I'm still not sure if I like how it turned out – I'm a little nervous about how it'll be received by my readers. Some of you will like it, and I'm sure some of you will hate it. Again, sorry for how long it took for me to write this chapter. I think you'll find it was worth the wait – at least, I hope so!

**Warnings:** A lot of them. This chapter raises the rating of this story to a solid M, on account of character death(s) and nonconsensual activity.

**Disclaimer:** They. Aren't. Mine.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Insignificance: Chapter Ten**

* * *

_I'd forgotten how much I hate Decepticons._

_Really, Sunny? That's incredible._

_I know, right? Especially the aerials. I _hate _the aerial Decepticons! _

_Could it be because you're stuck on the ground…?_

_Slag off, Sideswipe! Just because _you _have a short-range jetpack mounted on that ugly aft of yours doesn't mean you have the right to get all high-and-mighty about things!_

The two Lamborghinis raced through the dark junkyard, following the glowing, roaring engines of the massive F-22. Their motors surged and decelerated, sleek, colorful bodies passing one another in perfect rhythm and time, twinned sparks knowing exactly where the other was. The jet that they pursued possessed the ability to be many thousands of times faster, but Skywarp, for all intents and purposes, did not seem interested in _escaping. _Sideswipe knew the seeker was only leading them on a wild chase, for the Decepticon's own amusement; the F-22 would dematerialize and reappear behind them, fire a few stray shots, and teleport back ahead of them again. It was a dizzying pursuit, but Sideswipe and his brother were always up for a challenging fight.

_We gotta cut the crap and shoot this slagger down._

_Copy that, Sunny. _Sideswipe floored his gas pedal and, finding an elevated metal ramp, accelerated up it and transformed in mid-air. Sunstreaker unfolded into his robot form and together, the twin Autobots charged over the dark ground, racing as fast as they could toward the hovering F-22.

"I've got a signal request from Skwarp!" Sideswipe shouted. 

"Accept it and send it my way, too."

The taunt was simple. _Running out of gas?_

Sunstreaker was the first to reply. _Get your purple aft out of the sky and _fight_, you piece of slag!_

_I prefer flying, thank you, _Skywarp responded curtly. _It's not my problem that Autobot ground-kissers such as yourselves aren't adapted to the air. _

Sunstreaker shot a glance to his twin brother. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

The red Lamborghini nodded. "Sure am. It's high time for some jet judo." Sideswipe reactivated the signal with Skywarp. _So sure? _Three_ can play at that game, Decepti-bastard! _The transmission was cut and blocked before the F-22 could reply. "Alright, Sunny, it's been a while – you'd better be as ruthless as you've always been if we wanna do this right – "

Sunstreaker, still dashing noisily beside Sideswipe, scowled at his twin in mock-offense. "Are you _doubting_ me? Shut the slag up, stop calling me by that _Primus-awful _nickname, and get that jet-pack started!" 

"Alright, alright! Just don't weigh me down like you did _last _time!"

* * *

With a hatred-filled roar, Barricade threw Bumblebee to the ground. Metal crunched and grinded as the two 'bots fought for dominance, claws and fists relentlessly scraping at one another. Bumblebee snarled, feeling the Decepticon's agonizing grip on his arm, and tore blindly at his attacker, shearing off something that fell to the ground with a_thunk_. Barricade howled and swiped at the Autobot's face, claws missing the blue optics by mere millimeters.

Guns and long-range weapons, at this point, were out of the question.

Bumblebee could feel the shrapnel on the ground abrade against his armor; shattered glass pressed against sensitive wires as the Decepticon's metal talons curled into a fist and struck him in the chassis, again and again and_again. _The claws on one of Barricade's hands folded in and were replaced by a terrifying buzz saw, and he was bringing it close,_too _close – 

The Autobot thrashed his legs, finally smashing into Barricade's knee joint and forcing the 'bot off him. Bumblebee scrambled to his feet then slammed himself onto the police cruiser, one hand holding Barricade's buzz saw-capped arm to the ground and the other turning into a fusion cannon, already charging with a bright-orange glow. With a hiss of something between desperation and rage, the Camaro leveled his weapon at Barricade's throat. _Do it, _Bumblebee told himself._ Do it! DO IT!_

Barricade's red optics stared straight back at him, showing in them no fear, no worry, no compassion… The Decepticon did not fight back; retracting his buzz saw, he simply held Bumblebee's arm and torso in his iron grip, tensed claws scraping at yellow paint.

Bumblebee hesitated. The noises of the other battles going on around him were muted and sounded strangely far away; his commlink was silent; the lives in danger seemed insignificant and small. The Autobot's thoughts turned back to the Decepticon he had pinned beneath him, the Decepticon whose life he could extinguish at any moment. _Primus, Bumblebee, you can do it! _The Camaro jabbed his fusion cannon at Barricade again, the nozzle connecting with the cables in his adversary's neck. The Decepticon groaned and bucked against his attacker, attempting to throw Bumblebee off, but the Autobot held his ground, shifting his weight so that he straddled the 'bot beneath him. 

"Ruthless, Bumblebee," Barricade rasped, sounding almost _delighted. _"Admirable, very admirable. I'm down – obliterate me. Blow me away. Or do you Autobot scum _shy away _from such behavior?"

"No," Bumblebee gritted, and again slammed the Decepticon's frame into the ground. "Others might, but _I _will not take pity upon bastards like yourself."

Barricade was smashed into the ground once more; a shudder ripped through his body as he growled, "For once, you're playing rough. Very good, Autobot."

At once, Bumblebee seized up, a sudden jolt of realization coursing through his spark. _Barricade's enjoying this. _But what could he do? The Autobot's concentration was shot – he had lowered his cannon! – and his optics were staring straight into the red glare of the Decepticon. Bumblebee raised his fist and connected it with Barricade's jaw. "You son of a bitch!"

Barricade's facial components twisted into a ghastly smirk. "Earth slang, how quaint! Did you learn it from the boy you've been guarding?And by _guarding_, Bumblebee, I mean something that goes _so _much more _deep_."

Panic flooded Bumblebee's systems. _No! Primus, no! How could he…? Soundwave! _The yellow Autobot narrowed his optics to dangerous slits. "You will not speak of him!"

"No? And why not? That fool Soundwave has told me you spoke of _us!_" At Bumblebee's reaction, which was little more than an uncomfortable shift in his position, Barricade continued, mockingly, "Does it still bother you, Bumblebee? After all these millennia, after this endless, slagging war – do you still _think _about it? Regret your course of action?" Barricade's voice became a hoarse, mechanical whisper. "Do you _miss it?_" 

Bumblebee was barely aware of the fact he was shaking his head _no_; he was completely oblivious to how much closer he had moved to the Decepticon under him, or how their chassis were touching, metal-on-metal, their spark chambers incredibly close… "Barricade," the Autobot heard himself speak, "I do not want to – "

"The fleshling gave you a rinse earlier this week, in your pathetic _human-friendly_mode," Barricade hissed. "I only ask, Bumblebee, did it feel as _good as_ _this?_" Before the Autobot had time to react, Barricade arched his body upward, crashing the armor plating that protected their spark chambers together, simultaneously raising his energy field so that it pulled against Bumblebee's systems. The Camaro moaned at the unexpected and unwanted contact and the pleasure it brought forth. "I would be willing to bet that he can't do this for you," the Decepticon continued, again bucking his torso skyward so that it ground against the Autobot. "All these years, Bumblebee – and you still can't get enough of it…"

"Slag –_Barricade _– " Bumblebee retracted his fusion cannon back into his arm and tried – _desperately _tried – to lift himself away from the pinned Decepticon. But Barricade's hold was too strong; arcs of blue electricity ran like spider webs over the Autobot's frame, nicking every circuit and abrading every pain and pleasure receptor in his body. Bumblebee shuddered convulsively, one hand holding Barricade by the neck, the other clawing at the ground. _How is this possible? I have the upper hand! How can he _control_me like this? _Bumblebee felt his elbow joints tremble; again, Barricade thrust himself upward, and as the painful pleasure radiated through the Autobot's frame, he felt himself weakening, falling – 

With a grating moan, Bumblebee collapsed onto the Decepticon. _This is all my fault! I'm failing! Sam, I'm failing you… _

Barricade laughed and, none too gently, quickly reversed their positions, hiking one of Bumblebee's legs up and over his back. "Autobot scum! I knew you'd still harbor such sentimental feelings." With a smirk, the Decepticon ground his chassis into Bumblebee; their pelvic armors scratched and scraped; he could feel the tremors rocking the Camaro's frame, could see the fear and lust and sadness in the Autobot's blue optics. Barricade sent a final, violently forceful pulse of energy into Bumblebee's system, then detached himself from the pinned 'bot. "Pathetic, Bumblebee. You are a waste of my time."

Feeling broken, Bumblebee watched the Decepticon stalk away, clanking footsteps turning into the roar of an engine. The sound was swallowed by the darkness, taillights headed in the direction of –

The direction of –

_Sam and Mikaela!_

Grit and debris grated in Bumblebee's joints as he pulled himself to his feet. His body ached and he could feel his circuits and wires misfiring; his spark_seared…_

* * *

"Sam – Sam, what is this, what's going on – "

"Damn it, I don't know! It's like – like – "

"Is Barricade_raping _him?"

"_What?! _Mikaela, of _course not _– they don't _do _that – do they…?" Sam squinted through the darkness, his gaze returning to the two 'bots. Barricade had Bumblebee pinned to the ground and was – Sam could only describe it as _thrusting _– himself at the Autobot, bright blue electricity arcing between the two Cybertronians. _What if…? _And the more Sam watched, the more it occurred to him that it _just could be… _He remembered what Bumblebee had told him, many hours earlier – _"I will not engage in any battle. Even if he has been repaired, Barricade would enjoy it too much. Horrible circumstances could arise." _Sam forced himself to turn away from the brawl – or _whatever _it was – and he cringed. "Bee's not fighting back."

"Maybe he _can't_." Mikaela hugged her arms to her body, paced, then gazed back to where the battle had been. Bumblebee was sprawled on the ground, and a pair of headlights, set to bright, were coming their way, _blinding_… "Sam – Sam, we've _got_ to go."

"Wait, what? Goddamn it, it's not like we can do anything to _help – _"

"No, you idiot!" She hauled the boy to his feet and pointed to the police car that was racing their way. "That's Barricade! Run! _Run!_ RUN!"

The two humans fleeing on foot were no match for the Saleen's supercharged, 400-horsepower engine. The police cruiser roared behind them, its sound intermingled with the scream of the three F-22s and the constant explosions reverberating from the nearby battles. Sam was only barely aware of Mikaela's tight grip on his fingers. Together, they scrambled over the shadowed ground; the boy felt his chest heaving, his lungs _aching_ – blood was leaking from his bandaged wound, trickling down his leg – he was short of breath, so incredibly _winded _–

The Decepticon closed in on them, tires squealing madly. Sam felt lightheaded, and as the Mustang raced alongside them, the boy barely registered the drivers-side door fling itself open. _Must run. Must run. MUST RUN. _There was a sudden tug on Sam's hand and a scream of terror from Mikaela; he saw her fingers grasping tightly at his, slipping with sweat – she was being dragged into the car, a spiny, metal appendage clasping her arm, digging into her skin – and Sam would be pulled in with her if he didn't let go, but _if he let go – _

"NO! MIKAELA!" He desperately tried to keep his hold on her hand; she was shrieking, shouting an unintelligible slew of words and phrases as she was pulled further into the cabin of the police cruiser, horror flashing in her eyes. Sam 's grip was failing, blood pounded in his ears; Barricade snarled and accelerated with a sudden burst of speed. Sam's feet fell out beneath him; as the dark ground came rushing toward his face, he could _feel _Mikaela's grasp torn from his –

"Sam! _SAM! _NO!" 

Sam watched, helplessly, as Mikaela was dragged completely inside the Mustang; the door slammed itself shut, silencing the girl's screams. Barricade screeched to a halt, headlights facing the boy, engine roaring, daring him to come closer. _No. _Sam propped himself up on his elbows; he could feel the burn of the scrapes on his arms, was aware of a strange, throbbing pain in his left ankle. Slowly, he picked himself up, wobbling on his feet, and glaring at the Decepticon, growled, "Give her _back_, you worthless bastard!"

"You can have her, if you'd like," came the dark reply, "but you'll have to catch me, first." Barricade howled with laughter, revved his engine, then tore off into the night.

"God_damn _it!" Sam unsuccessfully stifled a sob, then collapsed to his knees. "GODDAMN IT!" _It's all fucked! There's nothing I can do – shit, Bumblebee's down! I gotta – _

The sudden roar of a familiar engine ripped through Sam's thoughts. He twisted himself around and saw the bright headlights that belonged to Bumblebee's Camaro form. The boy hauled himself to his feet and dashed to the car, eyes taking in the new gouges and scrapes that covered the Autobot's exterior. Bumblebee flung open his driver-side door, and Sam hurled himself inside the cabin. "Mikaela," he breathed, "Barricade – Barricade's got her."

Bumblebee secured a seatbelt over his passenger. "Are youokay, Sam?" The Camaro was accelerating at a breakneck pace.

"I – yeah, I think so – leg's not doing so hot. I think I'm finally feeling the whole blood-loss thing." A small shudder rippled through his body. "Bee, what _happened _back there? Are _you _okay?"

The Autobot hesitated. "Did you see everything, Sam?"

The boy nodded distractedly, his brain too busy, his thoughts going off in too many directions at once – he felt his mind was literally being pulled apart – drawn and quartered – with all the dangers, all the scenarios, all the unanswered questions. Sam shivered. "I saw it all, Bee."

"I'm sorry you had to witness it. Barricade's a shameless, ruthless Decepticon – "

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to just _wish away _the images of the earlier struggle. "Bee – he _raped _y – "

"No," came the stony reply, "he did not. And now is not the time to talk about it." Bumblebee ignored the glare from the human inside his cabin, and continued, "This night has gone to the Pit. And maybe, if we get out of this alive, I'll tell you more – "

"'Kaela and I figured it out, Bee," Sam murmured. Despite the fact the Camaro was tearing across the ground, going Primus _knows _how fast, he felt very still. Sam leaned his head back against the seat and shut his eyes. His mind felt sick and detached and very far away… "You told Barricade we were attacking tonight, didn't you?" Sam sucked in a shaky breath. "I'm not gonna hold it against you, not right now…"

The Autobot disregarded the question. "Your heart rate is erratic, Sam – slag it, we_need _to make this quick." Flooring the gas pedal, Bumblebee activated his commlink. "Autobots – I'm currently in pursuit of Barricade. He has taken Mikaela hostage. Requesting immediate backup."

There was a tense moment of silence before Jazz's voice crackled to life. "It's crazy over here, Bee! Not sure when I can make it over!"

"What about the others?"

"Ironhide's pretty fucked up – Ratchet's dealing with him right now. Optimus radioed in the U.S. Air Force – the idiots haven't shown up yet, as you've probably noticed – and he's got his hands full with Soundwave – "

"He's not _dead yet?_" Bumblebee demanded angrily.

"'Course not! 'Jack and Optimus are currently working on him. Rumble's down – the little shit that he is, he refuses to fuckin' _die – _and Buzzsaw's down – we're working on Thundercracker – the twins are still in pursuit of Skywarp – Starscream is generally being the big, fuckin' bastard he's always been – "

"Okay, okay!" Bumblebee swore to himself, then added, "Just – get here when you can, alright? There's a life in immediate danger!" Abruptly, the Camaro cut the signal. 

Sam could see the taillights of the police cruiser, many feet ahead; the heavy, bitter feeling of dread swelled uncontrollably inside his stomach. "How're we gonna do this, Bee?"

"Do you want the truth?"

An unsuccessful gulp – Sam's throat was dry and raw – then a nod. "Yes."

"Chances are very slim that we'll be able to rescue Mikaela. Barricade can transform at any time he'd like – I'm surprised he hasn't done so already – and the results would be… disastrous." Bumblebee paused, but Sam didn't know _what _he could say in response to something as horrible as that. He didn't _want _to imagine the end result of something so vile, so evil… "Primus, I hope someone can help us," Bumblebee murmured to no one in particular. "My circuits are close to fried, as it is."

"Bee?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"This time, don't hesitate… please…"

"Showing mercy for that scrapheap won't even cross my mind."

* * *

The cabin of the Mustang was deathly silent, despite the fact the Decepticon was flying through the junkyard at an incredible speed. The air inside the car felt cold and filtered and sterile – nothing like the friendly atmosphere of Bumblebee in his Camaro form. More glaring silence, then, "Let me go." Mikaela waited for a reply, but none came. She had already tried opening the doors of the police cruiser, but they were locked tight and would never yield to human hands. She sighed and kicked the dashboard of the vehicle. "Hey, asshole, would you _listen to me?_"

"Give me one reason, pathetic flesh creature." The voice was low and threatening, and despite the fact that Mikaela had _asked _the Decepticon to speak, it still made her jump in the seat.

The girl slumped forward and searched her thoughts for a decent-sounding excuse, but came up empty-handed. Finally, "Why me? What will it take for you to let me go?"

"You are irrelevant," was the rumbling reply. "Your life has no meaning to me or the Decepticon cause. You are trivial and expendable – though I would have preferred to have captured Samuel Witwicky, as well. There is nothing more convenient than, as your pitiful race puts it – _killing two birds with one stone_."

The girl shuddered. She had known this was coming – that her death was imminent and unstoppable – but to be insulted so coldly, straight to her face… Was she really so insignificant? "They will find you," Mikaela gritted, anger shaking every word, "and they will _kill_you."

Barricade laughed. "To whom do you refer? Surely not _Bumblebee? _That miserable piece of slag can't find it in his spark to kill me. Oh, I'm sure I'll be destroyed before this night is over, but it won't be at the hands of your little, yellow friend."

Mikaela rolled her eyes. "He _warned you_, you ungrateful bastard! He took pity on you and _gave you a running start! _And how the fuck do you _repay _him? What did you _do _to him back there?" 

"So we had an audience, then? Excellent. Use your organic processor, _human_, and figure it out for yourself – or have you done that already?"

"You raped him."

"Hardly," Barricade replied. "Bumblebee was _begging _for it. And besides, our kind is ruthless in battle, as you have no doubt witnessed. The Decepticons will use whatever means necessary to achieve their goals. That piece-of-slag Autobot would have severely compromised my health had I not… interfered."

"You're _sick_."

"Call it what you will, fleshbag. You bore me." The Decepticon paused, then decelerated. "Bumblebee is tailing us, so our time together will fortunately be cut short."

At these words, Mikaela twisted around in her seat, recognizing the bright headlights that glared through the tinted rear window. _He's got Sam with him! Goddamn it, Sam, why risk it…? _The police cruiser's brake pedal slammed down on its own accord; Mikaela was thrown against the door as the car swerved and screeched to an abrupt stop. She _knew_what was coming – the inevitable – and Mikaela found an unexpected grin, grim and feral, spread across her lips. "Barricade, Bumblebee is going to _obliterate _you. There will be _nothing_left for your bastard friends to _identify. _Hear me? _Nothing. _And after Bumblebee is done grinding your sorry, piece-of-shit ass into the dirt, humans will _melt you down _and turn your worthless scrap into fucking _sewer pipes_." Mikaela trembled with rage, feeling oddly victorious. Already, she could see the inner workings of the Mustang begin to twist and shift. _God, Sam, please make it out of this alive._

* * *

_Thunk. _ Sam jumped as the Camaro locked its doors. As the seatbelt tightened itself over the boy's chest, a sudden surge of panic rocked his nerves. "Bumblebee, what – " Sam's gaze flicked wildly from the dashboard of the car to the parked Mustang outside –_things _were happening, it was _changing_, and – _Oh, shit. _"NO!"

"We're too late, Sam," the Camaro murmured soberly. "Barricade is already transforming."

"So we're just gonna sit here and _watch?_" Sam found himself shrieking, fighting against the restraint of the seatbelt. "Goddamn it, Bee, _let me go! _I gotta help her! Let me go! LET ME GO!" He clawed at the safety belt, and when its hold did not subside, the boy kicked the underside of the Camaro's console, beat his fists against the steering wheel, sobbing – 

Through the tears and rage that clouded his eyes, Sam watched the Mustang lurch and shift, the unmistakable sheen of _blood _running down the plates of unfolding armor. His stomach felt like it had completely fallen away, only to be replaced with a white-hot flame of pure _hatred_, a fire that burned so hotly it _seared. _"NO! NO! _NO!_"

"There will be a time to mourn, Sam," Bumblebee hissed briskly, "but right now, I need you to get out of my cabin, take cover, and keep still –_and for Primus' sake, stay out of harm's way. _You're suffering from a severe amount of blood loss and trauma right now, and – "

"BEE, SHE'S DEAD!"

Bumblebee ignored the boy's shouts of horror. "Sam, I am going to let you get out. _Do not interfere_."

"Bee! How can you – ? How _could _you – ? _She saved your life! BEE!_" The choke of the seatbelt over Sam's chest suddenly lifted, and with a _zip _the constraints were gone. The driver-side door flung itself open – Sam could _smell _the coppery tang of blood in the cool, nighttime air – and before he knew what was happening, he was tumbling out of the car, hitting the dark ground – Bumblebee was transforming, battleshield flipping down over his face, arm subspacing into his ion cannon – 

The two 'bots clashed, their armor clanging wildly – a jet screamed by overhead – several explosions rocked the ground – bright flashes – garbled Cybertronian swearing –

Sam felt his head spinning, his mind leaving the realm of his control – his vision blurred in and out of focus in a dizzying, beating rhythm with his pulse – there was a sudden rush of _something_, and the boy keeled forward onto his hands and knees. He was faintly aware of a thick, hot liquid dribbling from his nose – Sam drew the back of his hand across his face – _blood! _

And before he knew what was happening, Sam felt dry heaves relentlessly wrack his body, burning his lungs and his stomach – he started to retch – he felt his lunch shoot up through his esophagus – vomit hit the ground – Sam's mouth tasted like bile and blood – the boy collapsed –

Bumblebee was whaling on Barricade like there was no tomorrow –

_Blackness._

* * *

"Ironhide. Ironhide! Stay with me, old friend!" Ratchet knelt beside the prone form of the weapons specialist, frantically running diagnostics of the fallen warrior's internals. _How in the Pit did he take so much damage? _Without any hesitation, following the same instinct and purpose to which he'd adhered for millennia, the medic quickly soldered a shorting wire in Ironhide's neck, then repaired a conduit that was leaking energon. "What happened?"

"Got slagged by Starscream," Ironhide rasped. "That fraggin' bastard – he's still circling the area and picking out targets."

"So he shot you down from the sky? _That's_ a Decepticon for you." Ratchet crouched down lower to the black Autobot, carefully tending to a frayed circuit in Ironhide's leg. "Leave it to _that_piece of scum to rely on long-range weaponry…"

The injured Autobot shook his head and made a noise that sounded like a cough. "No, I was foolish enough to engage him in battle. That aerial asshole is twice my height, has considerably more firepower – stupid of me, Ratchet. I'm scrapped."

The medic grunted. "Not yet, buddy. I've seen you worse off – "

"My cannons are obliterated, you glitch! I can't feel my legs! I'm an immobile piece of sl – "

"No, you _aren't_," Ratchet gritted as he repaired another relay in Ironhide's thigh. "Like I said, you could be _completely _offlined right now." The yellow-green Autobot paused to further survey the damage. It didn't take him long to realize that what the weapons specialist had said was true; Ironhide _was _in rough shape. His right leg was mangled to the point of being scrap metal, and the two cannons that normally graced either arm were entirely absent. Ratchet's facial components twisted into a worried frown. "Your leg isn't completely irreparable, but it's not something I can fix out here – the damage is far too complicated – "

A nearby explosion rocked the ground – an F-22 billowing smoke screamed by overhead – another explosion –

Ironhide sighed, sounding _old _and _tired_ – it was a sigh of resignation and that, more than his damaged condition, worried Ratchet the most. "I've got to get you out of here. You'll get hit by flak – it's too dangerous."

"Good luck moving me," the inured Autobot grunted. "I'll take it like a warrior, Ratchet – I've still got small-scale weapons – I can shoot from the ground – "

"For the Pit's sake, Ironhide! You don't know when to give up!" Ratchet climbed to his feet, wondering what in the _slag _his options were. Jazz was signaling for backup, _Bumblebee_ – Primus_knows _where that fragger of a 'bot was – was in pursuit of Barricade and requesting backup as well, and the U.S. _Air Force_was radioing in at last, with a fleet of F-22s and F-15s _en route_. The medic fidgeted worriedly. "You get that latest word from the Air Force, Ironhide?"

"Yeah. We need all the help we can get. I just hope they can arrive on time." There was a rumble – and as if to answer Ironhide's request, the roar of a jet engine, closing in. "That'd better be our friends from the Air Force, Ratchet."

"Slag. Either they're blocking my signals, or – " Ratchet turned his attention from the reclined form of Ironhide to the night sky. "I'm getting the signature of only one F-22 – "

Ironhide stiffened, then scowled. "Get out of here, Ratchet! It's Starscream! He just opened up a direct transmission with me!"

Optics widened with surprise, Ratchet goggled at the weapons specialist. "_What? _'Hide, I can't just _leave _you here to get slagged!"

"Better me than the both of us!" the black Autobot shot back. "I'm scrapped as it is. You've got lives to save, hear me?" The engines of the approaching F-22 reverberated through the ground; Ironhide could feel the vibrations shake his frame, loosening already frayed circuits. With his one working hand, he took hold of Ratchet's arm. "Get _out _of here. You're the only one who can save the boy!"

Emotions clashed in Ratchet's processor – his spark ached with the prospect of leaving one of his own behind – but he nodded at last, understanding Ironhide's plea. "Copy that. I may still see you yet, in a different time and place, old friend."

"Goodbye, Ratchet."

Without another word, the medic transformed into his Search and Rescue Hummer mode and peeled away, tires screeching over the earth, motor roaring. The boom of Starscream's engines was deafening in Ratchet's audials – there was a bright, yellowy flash and a millisecond later, the thunder of an explosion – a digital note popped up in the periphery of the Autobot's vision, alerting him to a disconnection with Ironhide's signal –

A full minute passed before Ratchet was able to convince himself to radio Optimus. _Prime… Ironhide's gone. _

There was an extended pause before Ratchet received a reply from the Autobot leader. _Primus, no. Was it Starscream?_

_Affirmative. What is the status of the rest of our convoy? What is your next order for me?_

Another pause. Ratchet_knew _Optimus was losing his resolve – it would happen soon – and when it did, anyone identifying himself as a Decepticon would be very sorry indeed… _Wheeljack and I are currently engaged in battle with Soundwave. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have their hands full with Skywarp but have signaled me saying they need no additional help. Jazz has finished off the last of Soundwave's cassettes and is in pursuit of Thundercracker. I am detecting two signals that are approaching from the southwest – I need you to see to it that they're friendly and not additional Decepticons. _

_Will do. _Ratchet ended the transmission, took a sharp turn, and sped away into the darkness.

* * *

_Slag! Why in the Pit did I ever agree to accompany that idiot on his tour of this pathetic mudball? Repaired, rebuilt, and what do you know? I'm about to be scrapped again. _Thundercracker veered sharply, traveling up, up – he was gaining altitude, out of the range of Autobot weaponry – and he coasted, feeling the nighttime air sweep against his damaged wings. The Decepticon turned his engines off and glided, his heavy jet form slowly arcing downward toward the land again. _This is an incredibly stupid situation. _Finding himself approaching the ground at an uncomfortably fast pace, the F-22 ignited his engines once more, circling the junkyard battlefield from thousands of feet above. Banter between Starscream and Skywarp was playing constantly over the commlink, and with a growl of frustration, the blue-and-white seeker turned it off. 

Thundercracker's body_hurt_ – he'd been blasted by someone, Jazz, perhaps – and his tail-end was currently issuing a thick billow of black smoke. _Frag it all if _Skywarp _sees me in this state! I'm surprised he hasn't popped up in front of me as some kind of stupid joke. _The Decepticon made his fifth circle of the vast junkyard, trying to ignore the searing pain that coursed through his body. _Megatron's dead, Starscream is hardly a leader – what in the name of Primus am I doing here?_ Thundercracker swore in annoyance as a message request from Starscream sounded.

_What is your status?_

_Slagged, _Thundercracker replied shortly, not in the mood to communicate with his commander.

_That's _incredibly_helpful, Thundercracker, thank you for the insight._

_Weapons systems are still online. Processor's fine. My frame's on its way to being scrap, though – another direct hit and I'll be down._

_You don't need to worry about Ironhide anymore, I've disposed of him. Get your aft back on the ground and fight! Soundwave needs you to back him up. _

Thundercracker shifted his position, slightly, nose angled toward the Earth. _Where are_you_ at, O Great Leader?_

_Picking out targets. _Starscream paused, then, in a completely different tone, _Change of plans, Thundercracker. Soundwave says the Autobots have called in the fleshling Air Force for help. Maintain your position. Shoot them down when you've got them in your sights._

_Copy that_, Thundercracker replied. A blip on his radar signaled the approach of six aircraft, identified by his readouts as two F-22s and four F-15s. Mentally cursing to himself, the Decepticon engaged his engines to top capacity, shooting skyward until the scrapyard was a dark speck on a darker landscape. Fighting and destroying the Autobots was _one_matter – he'd been battling against the other Cybertronian faction for millennia – but killing a primitive race he had no quarrel with was a completely different situation. Unlike Starscream or Barricade, the reconstructed seeker had no interest or desire to murder humans. They were insignificant and small, and yet they were surprisingly ingenious; had not one of those tiny fleshlings been the one who destroyed Lord Megatron? As technologically inferior as they were – and as rudimentary and flawed as their governmental systems appeared to be – the human species was something that intrigued Thundercracker, even in the short time he had spent on Earth. 

The seeker scanned the status of the incoming Air Force backup. _ETA: three minutes. Altitude: 10,000 feet. _Thundercracker sighed, rocketed higher into the night sky, and, having not heard from Skywarp for several minutes, sent a message to the purple jet. _Where the slag _are_ you?_

_Wouldn't _you_like to know! _

_You're having your aft kicked by those idiotic twins, aren't you?_

_Negative, Thundercracker. But I _am _leading them on an epic chase!_

The mental image of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe chasing after Skywarp was unquestionably amusing; the purple jet had the ability to teleport short distances – technology that none of the present Autobots possessed. Thundercracker stifled an unprofessional-sounding chuckle. _I'm sure it is. Listen, did Starscream instruct you to intercept the Air Force backup that's headed our way?_

_No, he told me to continue my current task._

_Figures. Alright, Skywarp, I've got some squishies to shoot down. Be careful out there._

_You're such a sentimental piece of slag._

With an amused snort, Thundercracker cut the signal and _waited. _He would never outwardly show his weakness – his disinclination to harm humans – to his fellow wing mates, and he had to be especially guarded around Soundwave. However, there was no denying the fact he'd have to follow orders tonight. _At least six more lives needlessly lost, _the Decepticon grumbled to himself. _Why did I agree to come along on this mission…? _

A _ping _on his radar and the sound of half a dozen sets of jet engines brought Thundercracker back to the present and, charging his weapons, he readied himself for attack.

* * *

In all the endless millennia he had fought the enemy, Ratchet had seen close friends suffer and die. Firsthand, he had witnessed fellow Autobots be murdered – _obliterated_, even – by the Decepticons; the medic had tried, countless times, to save his comrades, only to fail, and watch them slip away before his very eyes… Death had become commonplace to Ratchet; he could have _sworn _he was desensitized to the carnage and ruthlessness of battle, and yet – Ratchet could not, for the life of him, manage to pry Ironhide's parting words from his mind. Perhaps it wasn't the weapons specialist's _death _that troubled him so; the medic was sure that the surreally _vulnerable _state in which Ironhide had been disturbed him more than anything else.

Heaving the mechanical equivalent of a sigh, Ratchet accelerated through the darkness, heading southwest toward a pair of blips on his radar. _Send me to the Pit if these are Decepticons_. _And maybe, if they are – Ironhide can give me a great welcoming party…_

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**A/N:** And there you are! The battle ain't over yet, this fic is longer than it ever should have been, and – well, I had problems with this chapter. You know, the whole nonconsensual and 'killing people off'-type of thing. Truth be told, it was a reviewer, early on (I forget who), who gave me the idea to have Mikaela be killed at the hands of Barricade. I had gotten several previous comments saying how 'Kaela and 'Cade should be an item (that garners a big wtf from me) and this reviewer basically said the only thing Barricade would do to her is rip her apart. I agreed. Hence – well, yeah. Anyway, now that Chapter 10 is read, tell me what you think! Thanks for reading, I love reviews, and – hey, you know the drill!

Love always,

mo


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Ooh, boy. It's been more than a month since my last update and I feel pretty crummy about that. From now on, the author's note section shall be changed to the "apologies noted" section, okay? College finals and real life and all that kinda crap sometimes just have to take precedent. Now that I'm on winter break, however, I expect to really get this thing rolling and maybe I'll even have it done by the time break is over. That said, I wanted a lot more to happen in this particular chapter, but I felt horrible about not posting an update in forever, so… Yeah, a shorter-than-usual chapter for you. But an update nevertheless!

Like the previous chapter, some of you won't take to this chapter, either. I decided to slip into the enemy ranks for a while and follow some of their characters, because I love the Decepticons quite a bit.

**Warnings:** Creepy dreams, violence, character death. Yeah.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'em. And if I did, Optimus would probably tell me that I'd driven the organization right into the fucking ground.

… enjoy?

* * *

**Insignificance: Chapter Eleven**

* * *

A forest-green Jeep Wrangler Unlimited and a Dodge Charger police cruiser plowed through the darkness, their headlights blinding in the night. Heedless of the traffic laws, the vehicles drove side-by-side along the byway, speedometers pushing well past the legal limit, lights atop to the Charger flashing wildly. The blazes and booms of explosions and the roar of many jet engines signaled the arrival to their destination; the cars accelerated and peeled into the entrance of the junkyard – only to be met, head-on, by a search-and-rescue Hummer. The Charger and the Wrangler skidded dangerously across the ground with sudden braking, both vehicles quickly lurching and unfolding, twisting and clanking – 

With them, Ratchet transformed. "Prowl! Hound!" the medic exclaimed wildly, crushing each Autobot into a strong embrace. "How did you – ? But we didn't _expect _– " Unable to finish his thoughts, he simply stared at the new arrivals, a maddening mixture of excitement and melancholy pulling at his processors. 

"It's a relief to see you! We aren't too late, are we?" the Wrangler asked worriedly, his blue optics glancing past Ratchet to the raging battles being fought.

"Late? Primus, no! Hound, we need all the fraggin' help we can _get _right now." Hurriedly, Ratchet turned to the police cruiser. "Prowl, how – how did you two _find _us, much less know – "

"Long story," the Charger replied. "We initially took some wrong turns, ended up in the general vicinity of Earth – and picked up some distress signals, amazingly enough. We got here as fast as we could – landed near the city – the police car disguise allowed me to chase Hound without raising too many suspicions – "

"I've got to cut you short, Prowl," Ratchet interjected quickly, ignoring the immediate glare that emanated from the black and white Autobot. "There's a slaggin' war going on and I hate to inform you that_it's not going well._" The medic transformed back into his vehicle mode, waited for Prowl and Hound to do the same, then, with a squeal from his tires, accelerated and led the two new Autobots through the junkyard. Ratchet opened up a direct communication with them, taking a brief moment to fill the late arrivals in on the situation at hand. _Don't interrupt me, I'm buying time, here. The Autobots present are Optimus Prime, Jazz, Wheeljack, Bumblebee, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and myself. Ironhide – fell… _Ratchet paused, fully expecting to be interrupted – but nothing came, save for shocked silence, and he continued. _We're dealing with Soundwave, Starscream, Skywarp, Thundercracker, and Barricade. All of Soundwave's cassettes have been deactivated. As you can presently hear, the United States Air Force has a fleet of F-22s and F-15s helping from the sky. Questions?_

Hound braked and swerved, narrowly avoiding fire from an aerial gatling gun. _Yeah. Do they know who's friendly and who's not? Because my readouts are telling me that _definitely _came from an Air Force craft and not a disguised Decepticon! _

_Slag! I'm sending them an updated profile of our convoy, now. Sorry about that, Hound._ _Anything else? Prowl?_

_Yes. Do we have pre-designated 'Cons to target? Is there anyone we should attack first?_

Ratchet knew Prowl_hated _disorder of any sort, but – _No, just join the fray. The battles are scattered everywhere. This night has completely gone to the Pit – I only wish I had the time to fill you in on all the details. _Ratchet rounded a heap of flaming car bodies, then received an incoming message alert – from Bumblebee, of all the Autobots in the world. With a sigh, the medic accepted the signal.

_Ratchet, I need you here _now. _Sam is unconscious, and I am currently engaged in battle with Barricade. _

_Copy that, I will send someone over to pick him up. _Ratchet terminated the transmission and reactivated the other signal he shared with Prowl and Hound. _Change of plans. We've got two humans with us – I've just been informed that one of them is injured. It could be serious – I need one of you to meet up with Bumblebee – I'm sending both of you his coordinates – and take the boy the _slag_away from here. Prowl – it's possible that you're the best-suited for this task._

_Then I will do it,_ the police car responded. _Best of luck, the two of you. Send Optimus Prime and Jazz my regards. _With a roar, Prowl peeled into a tight U-turn and careened in the opposite direction, red taillights slashing through the darkness.

* * *

The color of the world pulsed between black and red – nothingness here, _everything_there – _it_ existed but at the same time was entirely intangible – _there, here, there… nowhere. _Sam fought for consciousness, though he was unaware of such; just as a vicious battle raged less than fifty feet away, a fight entirely as ferocious tore through his unconscious mind. 

_Barricade gripped Mikaela with his razor-sharp claws, talons digging into her soft skin, piercing her flesh like whetted knives. The Decepticon howled with insane laughter, taking delight in the struggling form of the girl he had captured. And Sam realized, with horror, that the more she fought, the tighter Barricade's hold on her became; the bulky Decepticon was _pulling_, ever so slightly, gradually tearing his captive apart –_

_The sadistic laughter warped and morphed; Sam spun and realized Bumblebee was standing beside him, arms crossed, watching the terrible spectacle with an apathetic gleam in his blue optics. Sam heard himself shouting – horrible things, horrible words – but his guardian wouldn't budge; the yellow Autobot whom he thought he'd loved so dearly refused to listen. And then there was a piercing cry, a blood-curdling shriek that made Sam turn back to Barricade and Mikaela – just in time to see her shredded in two, torn in half like a useless –_

_Suddenly Bumblebee was on top of Barricade, rocking against the Decepticon; their spark chambers were fused, both 'bots were crying out in deafening ecstasy, their chassis spattered with vibrant, red blood, the mutilated corpse of Mikaela thrown unceremoniously to the side – _

Sam howled with rage, and it was through his anger – his pent-up, thrashing _fury _– that he finally broke from the tight hold of unconsciousness. He woke with a startled cry – everything was dark – blurry – distorted. The crashing and grinding of metal, interlaced with rough Cybertronian shouting could be heard nearby – _Was it all a dream or…? _His vision still out of focus, Sam made the mistake of trying to pull himself to his feet – but his extremities were weak and _numb _– and he crashed back to the ground in a painful heap. Raising his head again, Sam squinted into the darkness, slowly becoming aware of the awful taste in his mouth and the itch of the blood plastered to his face and the swirling dizziness in his head. He coughed, thoughts turning from confusion to _panic _as he remembered just what in the hell was going on.

"Bumble – Bumblebee – " Sam rasped. "Bee…" He closed his eyes then blinked several times, desperately trying to win his vision back – he felt so incredibly _fragile _without it – and finally, agonizingly – edges sharpened from a muted blurriness, shapes took _form… _Bumblebee towered over the crumpled, unmoving hulk of Barricade, firing his fusion cannon again and again and _again_ – 

The wail of sirens made Sam's heart leap into his throat, and for a brief moment, confusion still clouding his mind, the boy thought that the Decepticon had returned and was idling behind him in his vehicle form. Unable to stand, Sam rolled onto his back, tilted his head, and saw a lone police car, parked several feet away. _What are the cops doing here? _The immediate landscape awash in alternating flashes of blue and red light, Sam felt dizzy again, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He had absolutely no intention of moving, not even if the police officer ordered him to do so, but maybe Mikaela could explain the situation, she was always so incredibly good at negotiating –

Sam's insides went cold. _She's dead. Barricade murdered her. _In his traumatized state, Sam was unable to discern his twisted dreams from recent reality and couldn't remember _how _the deed was done – but he _knew_. Sam forced his eyes open once more, only to see the police car buckle and shift and _stand_, becoming a blue-opticked, stern-looking robot. Had Sam been able to scream, he would have; his vocal cords, however, were long since screamed raw, and he could only watch, with suspended horror, as the towering, mechanical being approached him. The boy rolled back onto his stomach, feeling slightly more protected, fingers digging into the pebbly ground, mind racing – the Cybertronian kneeled beside him –

"I was informed there were humans that needed rescuing."

Sam's pulse fluttered. His eyes darted across the black and white body of the Cybertronian, finally resting on the prominent, red Autobot insignia that was superimposed on the 'bot's door wings. _So he's a good guy, then. _Sam focused hazily on the Autobot's bright blue optics. "Only one," he croaked. "Too late – to save 'Kaela…" With a pained groan, Sam brought himself into a sitting position; behind him, there was the _zot _of a final cannon blast. He looked over his shoulder and saw Bumblebee approaching, ion cannon subspacing back into his arm, his optics unreadable. 

"Bumblebee," the new Autobot said, sounding oddly formal for the situation. "I take it you have finished dispatching Barricade?"

"Yes." The reply was almost a whisper. 

"Bee…" Sam watched his guardian carefully, feeling sad, angry, and fearful all at once. 

The yellow Autobot crouched down beside the boy. "Sam? Are you alright?"

"Not – not really, Bee," Sam managed. "Who – "

"Ratchet sent me here, Bumblebee," the new Autobot said, cutting over the boy's frail voice. "He wants me to take this human _away _from the vicinity of the battle."

The Camaro nodded. "To a hospital, yes, but I would rather – "

"I am better-suited to the task. A speeding police cruiser will not be stopped; however, a speeding sports car _definitely would _raise some suspicions."

"But – "

"No negotiating on this, Bumblebee." The Autobot turned to Sam again. "I need to take you out of here. It's far too dangerous and you appear to be in critical condition." The 'bot took several steps back, then lurched and folded in on himself, returning to his Dodge Charger form. The backseat door flung itself open and a voice issued from inside the cabin: "Climb in."

Sam found himself glancing to Bumblebee. "Go ahead," the Camaro said, reading the boy's expression. "He's on our side. I know you want to stay, but you need medical attention immediately."

"It's not that," he replied weakly. "I can't stand." Not a word more needed to be spoken; gently, Bumblebee closed his fingers around the boy, lifting Sam into the air and carefully placing him inside the police cruiser's cabin. "Thank you, Bee. Be careful?"

A pained nod. "I will. I love you, Sam."

The door slammed shut before Sam could reply – but Sam, his body hurting and his mind reeling, wasn't so sure of what his reply would have _been._

* * *

Another F-15 erupted into a ball of flames; Thundercracker circled by, watching as the aircraft – at least, what was left of it – hurdled toward the earth, the pilot unable to eject before the deadly impact. Mentally, the Decepticon cringed and cursed at himself. Yes, the Air Force backup was a threat to their cause, but – Thundercracker simply_couldn't _find any justification in the killing of the humans. They were not here by their own choice, nor was the conflict something that even _concerned _them; they were innocents, bystanders, people sent to die for a futile cause. The blue-and-white F-22 shot higher into the night sky, searching his radar for Skywarp. The other jet was nearby, jumping from place to place as two other blips – Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, most likely – tried their best to follow. That, too, was a futile chase; Thundercracker knew the only thing that could bring his wingmate down was firepower from a much more powerful source – Optimus Prime, perhaps, or Ironhide – though, according to Starscream's incessant gloating, _that _Autobot was apparently destroyed – or an F-22. Starscream, meanwhile, was doing his best to decimate the Air Force backup, as well. The lead jet did not consider the humans to be important, let alone existent in the first place. The human-powered F-22s and F-15s were little more than additional mechanical opponents to defeat – mindless drones – and Starscream dispatched them with alarming ease. 

Taking a sudden, arcing plunge, Thundercracker followed an F-22 through the darkness, choosing not to shoot. The jet he pursued was piloted by an exceptionally talented human; it banked and rolled, the pilot trying his very best to avoid certain death. Thundercracker, who fancied himself a far better flyer than any human, stayed close behind, perfectly matching the real F-22's maneuvers. 

Starscream's voice squawked to life over Thundercracker's commlink. _What in the name of Primus are you doing? Shoot him down! Shoot him down! _

Thundercracker grunted and cut the signal. He was in _no _mood to listen to Starscream's commands, not anymore. Yes, Thundercracker thought himself to be a loyal Decepticon – but he was loyal to _Megatron_ and Starscream was, by no means, Megatron. The lead jet, though he was brilliant in some respects, was not fit to be a leader – at least, not yet. Half of the Decepticons scattered across the galaxy had yet to hear of Megatron's apparent death; the faction was in disarray, and those that knew Starscream secretly or – in Soundwave's case – openly hated him. Thundercracker neither hated nor liked his commander – but he was tiring of his present situation – he was tiring of the searing ache in his damaged wing – he was tiring of needlessly killing the humans. 

Starscream overrode Thundercracker's firewalls and forced a new signal through the airwaves. _Do not disobey me, Thundercracker! Shoot that fleshling aircraft down!_

With a sigh, Thundercracker responded. _Yes, sir. _He terminated the transmission, then, using his readouts, found the airwave that the F-22 he pursued was currently operating on. Heaving another mechanical sigh, the Decepticon sent a signal to the now-diving jet: _I apologize, human. I do not wish to kill you, but Starscream will find far more painful ways to terminate you should he reach you first. _Convincing himself he was doing a favor for the pilot, Thundercracker engaged his missiles and fired.

* * *

Soundwave quickly surveyed the situation, his processor making telepathic contact with both the Decepticons and the Autobots that were present. Starscream, who had placed a set of rather complicated firewalls on himself to guard from telepathic attacks, was experiencing both extreme annoyance and delight – Skywarp was amused about _something _– and Thundercracker was feeling mutinous, as usual. If they were to escape this night alive – and Soundwave was confident they _would_– he would have to look into the rebuilt seeker's behavior and investigate whether or not Thundercracker was truly committed to the Decepticon cause. Meanwhile, the telepath had lost complete contact with Barricade and assumed him to be dead. _Serves him right. _

Optimus Prime was the 'bot with whom Soundwave was presently grappling. The Decepticon found that the Autobot leader was experiencing a deep sense of _stress_and certainly a lot of _regret_ – Soundwave assumed it had to do with the fact Ironhide had just been destroyed, or perhaps – there was the situation with Bumblebee, as well. Bumblebee, who was currently feeling very anxious, and angry; Bumblebee, who was now extremely _worried… _

Soundwave figured that the sourest thing to have happened so far that night was the deactivation of all his cassettes. He had salvaged the remains of Ravage from the attack earlier in the day, and calculated that the repair of his pantherlike creation wouldn't be impossible to accomplish. Buzzsaw was complete scrap, however, and it would take nothing short of a miracle to save Laserbeak from the Pit. Worst of all, Rumble – the one cassette who provided Soundwave with a constant source of amusement – was very much in need of immediate revival. Soundwave, unlike the rest of the Decepticons and undoubtedly the Autobots, viewed his creations with respect. He knew they weren't mindless drones – they had thoughts and personalities of their own. Sure, they could be annoying little slaggers – like Rumble, for example – but they could also be extremely loyal, and, in Ravage's case, loving, as well. 

A laserblast to his leg brought Soundwave back to the present, and to his current fight with Optimus Prime and Jazz. Without his cassettes – and, admittedly, without Barricade – the Decepticons were suddenly very much outnumbered. Skywarp wasn't being very helpful, doing whatever the slag he was doing; Thundercracker was acting deliberately useless – and Starscream, though he was actually _taking charge_ for once and shooting down the human aircraft, hadn't targeted any additional Autobots since destroying Ironhide. Still, the three seekers and Soundwave himself were not enough to combat the Autobots and a squadron of jet fighters and expect to win. The cobalt Decepticon took a swing at Jazz, striking the Solstice in the midsection, then fired several laserblasts at Optimus Prime, bright purple beams of light flashing from his cannon in rapid succession. The Autobot leader recoiled from the attack, red and blue paint scuffed and charred, then, with a cry of anguish, returned the fire. Soundwave struggled to dodge the blasts that were aimed his way, only vaguely aware of Jazz, and even less aware of the green Jeep Wrangler and search and rescue Hummer that were speeding his way. 

Soundwave was sorely outnumbered – and he _ran. _Dodging fire from the several Autobots that tailed him, the telepath dashed through the smoking darkness, locating and scooping up the crumpled form of Rumble and subspacing the metal carcass into his chest compartment. Without a moment's hesitation, Soundwave lurched forward and transformed into his Jeep Cherokee mode, engine roaring and large tires squealing over the ground. The Decepticon activated the homing beacon that Laserbeak, like all of his creations, had embedded in its frame, and allowed his radar to pick up the location of the offlined hawk-form cassette. 

Optimus Prime, still in his bipedal form, was tearing after him, while Jazz and Wheeljack raced alongside one another, gaining ground… Soundwave floored the gas pedal, olfactory sensors detecting the stench of burning rubber, audials bombarded with explosions of ever-increasing proximity. 

_There. _

His wings were gone and sparks leapt from his crumpled body, but there, lying on the ground in a pathetic heap, was Laserbeak – what was left of him – red optics emanating a weak glow. Soundwave's back hatch flew open – he activated his magnetic field and pinpointed its trajectory on the scrapped cassette – Laserbeak zipped through the darkness as if he were still operating – 

The remains of his third cassette saved, Soundwave accelerated like a missile, wishing to _Primus _that his vehicle mode could travel faster. The sports car forms of Jazz and Wheeljack were gaining on him, front bumpers nearing his tail end – and Optimus Prime, now rolling in his truck mode, was trying to cut Soundwave off –

Desperately, the telepath activated his signals and sent a message to the three jets who were currently dominating the sky. _Requesting backup IMMEDIATELY. _

Less than a second passed before Skywarp answered. _I'm on my way, Soundwave._

* * *

Skywarp, having just sent a reply to Soundwave's distress signal, executed a tight turn and careened back to where the battle had started. The coordinated attacks put forth by Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been uncoordinated at best; the small Autobots had dented Skywarp's armor and scratched his customized paint job, but had done little else to damage him. With an internal laugh, the Decepticon opened a signal once more with the twin 'bots. _I regret to inform you that I must leave to save our dearest second-in-command. It's been fun! _

Enraged Cybertronian swearing flooded the transmission – courtesy of Sunstreaker, most likely – and then _something _slammed into Skywarp's fuselage, exploding into a fiery eruption. 

_Slag! _Nearing his destination – he could _see _Optimus Prime and two of the Autobot sports cars trying to box Soundwave in – Skywarp ran a desperate diagnostic of what had just hit him, and what his status was. It had been a heat-seeking missile – Sideswipe had artillery that matched its specs – Primus, his entire right stabilator was_slagged! _Worse, his teleportation system was destroyed, and fixing it wouldn't be a quick procedure that his internal repairs could execute. Skywarp snarled – his balance was completely ruined – and he transformed in mid-air, crashing to the earth with a ground-shaking roar. The Decepticon charged into the fray, opening fire with his gatling gun, targeting nothing in particular but hoping to create a diversion long enough for his second-in-command to escape. _I'm going to meet with Prime. Be prepared to get the slag outta here!_

_Noted. _

Tearing through the acrid smoke and blinding flames, Skywarp hurled himself at the semi truck, his heavy frame colliding with that of the Autobot. For a split second, as pain radiated throughout his systems, the Decepticon offlined his optics, knowing full well that unless backup came to his aid, he would be scrapped. _Soundwave, you had better get your aft_moving _because I can't hold this much longer!_

_Affirmative. Radioing Starscream for backup._

In the periphery of his vision, Skywarp saw the cobalt-blue Jeep Cherokee peel away from the battle, safe for the moment – 

Something collided with his midsection, and when Skywarp's visuals came back online, he was greeted with the sight of Optimus Prime, standing in his bipedal form, blue optics glaring his way. The Decepticon returned the blow, the rushing feeling of panic now dominating his processor. Jazz and Wheeljack were transforming behind him – Ratchet and the Jeep Wrangler were closing in – Skywarp wheeled around and fired several missiles without setting targets – there was a sudden hum and the jet turned around again, only to see Optimus Prime's hand subspacing into his arm, replaced with his energy axe –

_Slag! Slag! I need someone here NOW! Thundercracker, WHERE ARE YOU?_

_I'm en-route! I'm en-route!_

"You will pay the price for coming to Earth, Decepticon."

Skywarp wasn't one to back out of a battle, however, nor was he one to beg for his life. It took him a few moments, but the Decepticon found his voice. "When you kill me, Prime, you'll have a slag of a lot more to worry about."

"Save it," the Autobot leader grumbled. 

_Thundercracker! I need you NOW!_

Prime's energy axe, a flash of glowing orange, was slicing through the darkness –

* * *

Engaging his thrusters to full blast, Thundercracker arced away from the last of the F-15s he was following, nose pointed to the flashes and explosions rocking the ground below. Again, Skywarp's voice sounded over their shared signal, a frantic, panicked tone that made Thundercracker's core go cold with fear. _Thundercracker! I need you NOW!_

Why didn't the fool just teleport –

A split second later, it felt as if something – _someone _– was torn from inside him; where there was once light and warmth in Thundercracker's spark, it was instantly replaced with an empty, aching void – darkness – loneliness – _pain. _Before he knew what was happening, the blue jet lost his balance, spiraling downward in a dizzying tailspin, the dark ground rushing toward him at a breakneck pace –

Thundercracker pulled up just in time. Several stray shots fired by the Autobots strafed his underside, but he paid them no heed; the Decepticon circled the area from above, feeling lost – helpless – _robbed. _A full minute passed before he could decipher his own thoughts. Skywarp was_gone. _The bond they shared was broken – and the sudden absence of the other seeker was almost too much for Thundercracker to bear. The Decepticon cruised higher and higher into the night sky, and when Starscream attempted to signal him, Thundercracker simply blocked the transmission. 

_This is not possible_, the jet told himself. _To be brought back online – to bond – to have a second chance – and now, THIS? _Even before he had left Cybertron with Skywarp, Starscream, and Soundwave, Thundercracker had known the mission would be a failure. He'd had his doubts about the whole thing – why hadn't he _listened _to them this time? The jet started another circle of the area, straying further away from the junkyard, frozen air beating against his wings. His mind was made up – it had been a mistake coming here – _no one _was going to stop him from –

Starscream forced a signal through to Thundercracker. _Status report._

_Is that all you have to say?! _the embattled Decepticon roared back. _We're getting our afts kicked out here! _

_Victory will be ours._

_Slag you to the Pit, Starscream! Skywarp's been terminated! _

_How predictable, the fool that he is – _

_HE SACRIFICED HIMSELF TO SAVE SOUNDWAVE, YOU SON OF A –_

_I won't deny that he had honor. Or perhaps it was stupidity._

Thundercracker knew he couldn't win against Starscream – his commander was too talented at banter, and Thundercracker was too angry and crushed to form comprehendible thoughts anymore. His fuselage hurting and his spark hurting even more, the blue jet sent a final message to his remaining wingmate. _I'm leaving, Starscream. Don't try to stop me. _Before Starscream could reply, Thundercracker cut the signal, then disabled his commlink system. He cast one final glance at the battle below – he could just make out Skywarp's crumpled form in the dust and flames – then rocketed away into the night.

* * *

Sam didn't remember blacking out, and he certainly had no grasp of how long he'd been unconscious. When the boy came to, he found himself curled up on the back seat of the Autobot police car, hugging his knees to his chest. His entire body ached. Feeling in his damaged leg seemed to be completely absent, while his lungs – his throat – his _everything_burned, a scratchy, fiery sensation that made him wish he'd not woken up. Slowly, the boy gained his bearings, easing himself into a seated position. His mind was still swimming – he was incredibly dizzy – and flashes of everything that had happened (and perhaps things that hadn't) were reeling through his disoriented brain. He was thankful that the sirens weren't wailing anymore, but the lights atop the vehicle were still flashing their erratic red and blue. Feeling a headache coming on, Sam groaned. Even the smallest vocalization hurt his throat, but he ignored the pain, and glanced forward, through the barrier, to the front console of the police car. The digital clock read 12:55.

For a few quiet minutes, Sam watched the steering wheel move on its own accord. The silence was glaring, and though they were traveling along the byway at a fast speed, the noise of the road couldn't penetrate the soundlessness of the car's interior. His transport having yet to communicate with him, Sam decided to speak first. "I, uh, never got your name," he said, and was horrified to discover his voice was weak and raspy.

"Designation, Prowl," was the immediate answer. Unexpectedly, he continued. "Hound and I landed outside the city approximately two hours ago. We were picking up quite a few distress signals."

Sam had no idea who this _Hound _was, but he coughed, then nodded in agreement. "Last – last I saw, everything was really – really going to hell out there."

"I am receiving a constant stream of the happenings of the battle, courtesy of Optimus Prime," Prowl said. "It seems the situation is finally turning in our favor."

"What's the most recent news?" the boy asked, turning his body and propping his injured leg up against a door panel. 

"The Decepticon Skywarp was destroyed just a couple of minutes ago."

Sam forced himself to smile – though, really, he doubted it made any difference. "That's – that's good. What else?"

"How much have you heard?" Prowl asked.

"Not – not much. Barricade's dead, I take it. And – and – Mik – " Sam broke down into painful tears. His body heaved, and again he cried until it hurt too much; but Prowl gave him time to unleash his emotions. Eventually, his body shivering, the boy controlled himself and muttered, "That's all I really know."

"There have been losses on both sides," Prowl stated, businesslike. "All of Soundwave's cassettes have been offlined. Soundwave himself, last I heard, is in critical shape, and there is a team of Autobots in pursuit. Starscream is still causing trouble – slagging good flier that he is – but his wingmate Thundercracker disappeared not long after Skywarp was offlined."

Most of what Prowl had said went unheard – Sam's thoughts were too erratic to listen. "And – and what about us? The Autobots?'' He was almost afraid to ask.

"Prime has just informed me that Wheeljack and Jazz took some damage before Skywarp was deactivated. The battalion of F-15s and F-22s sent by your government's Air Force have all been destroyed." Prowl paused. "And, I regret to inform you that Ironhide was taken out by Starscream."

An unpleasant feeling jolted Sam's insides, akin to an electric shock. "Wait, _what? _Ironhide's indestructible! How – ? I don't believe – How can you just _say _it so calmly?"

A solemn, mechanical sigh issued from the car's vocal processor. "Sam Witwicky, I, like Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, and the rest of the Autobots – along with the Decepticons – have been fighting this war for many, _many_millennia. Over the years, I have become jaded to the deaths of comrades and close friends. Ironhide's passing, though sad and regrettable, is no different. I am sure that it must sound awful to you, as your human life spans are so ephemeral – but we will mourn, if we must, when this battle is over."

Sam couldn't even bring himself to cry anymore. He hung his head, eyes closed, memories of his first meeting with the Autobots flooding his mind. Ironhide's humorous and empty yet incredibly _scary _threats – his run-in with Mojo – the way he and Ratchet had covered for Sam during the battle in Mission City… The boy shuddered, the surge of emotions making him feel increasingly lightheaded. "How much longer 'till – 'till – "

"I am taking you to a hospital. We will arrive in approximately five minutes."

At this, Sam closed his eyes, and again slipped unknowingly into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Bumblebee, come in. _

The yellow Autobot checked his chronometer and marveled at how quickly ten minutes had passed. Though Prowl and Sam had long since disappeared into the night, the red glow of the Charger's taillights were still imprinted into Bumblebee's optics. Ten minutes – to him, it was a trivial, insignificant amount of time, the tiniest fraction of a blink in his lifespan, and yet…

_Bumblebee, reply!_

Optimus Prime's radioed command tore through the Camaro's thoughts and, finally turning away from where Sam had left him, Bumblebee responded. _Yes, Optimus?_

_Good to hear you're still there. Soundwave is headed in your trajectory, traveling in his vehicular mode. _

_Will I have anyone to back me up?_

_Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are already in pursuit. I wish I could send Ratchet and Hound, but they are currently patching up Wheeljack and Jazz. _

Preparing for the chase, Bumblebee lurched forward and initiated his transforming sequence. _Is Soundwave our last threat, or…?_

_No, Starscream is still evading our missiles – although it would be useless for him to try and fight any longer. _

Wordlessly, Bumblebee cut the signal. The roaring of three engines signaled the approach of Soundwave and the twins – bright headlights flashed as the cars wove their way around heaps of accumulated human detritus – and though the Lamborghinis were much faster than the Jeep, the SUV had the advantage, tearing through the uneven terrain of the junkyard. As soon as Soundwave passed, Bumblebee floored it, joining Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in pursuit. 

For a full half-minute, nothing was said between the three Autobots as they edged closer to Soundwave's failing evasive tactics. It was an awkwardly tense silence, and though they _were _engaged in battle, it wasn't like Sunstreaker or Sideswipe to be fully _quiet. _Bumblebee knewthe Lamborghinis were _extremely _angry with him – and, well – he figured they were fully entitled to that opinion. It _was _his fault everything had happened – that they were here, now, fighting and dying and _hurting… _Slag it, if this night ever ended, he wouldn't blame Ratchet if the medic refused to solder his armor back together. Internally, Bumblebee cringed. He just _had _to agree to bring Sam and Mikaela along for the ride…

Sunstreaker opened a transmission and Bumblebee warily accepted. _So, Bee, you gonna be the guest of honor at Ironhide's funeral, or what?_

Bumblebee's internals gave an unpleasant jolt, so badly he nearly lost control. _Sunstreaker, what –_

_You heard me, you stupid glitch! Thanks to your telling everyone we were gonna attack tonight, Ironhide's been killed! Direct hit from that afthole Starscream, who, by the way, just _barely _beats you out in levels of slagging mental deficiency, not that it's anything to be proud of –_

Sideswipe cut across the transmission. _Sunstreaker, shut the slag up! We can discuss this at a more opportune time…_

If the red Lamborghini had anything else to say, Bumblebee didn't hear it; he was slowly slipping into a state that he'd heard the humans describe as _trauma. _He had been bombarded by such feelings before, many thousands of years ago, when fighting in his first battles and witnessing death and murder and obliteration for the first time. Bumblebee pushed himself to go faster, carefully and unconsciously avoiding any debris that was in his path. The world around him had become a black void, filled only with himself and the red taillights of the Decepticon he pursued.

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**A/N:** Ouch, crappy place to end the chapter, I know… Anyway, we've got an interesting situation going on, don't we? The battle seems to be in its final stages (I hope to Primus it is…), but what of Thundercracker, Soundwave, and Starscream? Speaking of which, the hints weren't exactly subtle, but yes – Thundercracker and our dearest Skywarp were bonded (I totally support this pairing, especially in the G1 cartoon). Next chapter is gonna be mostly just Autobot stuff, I promise (since this is a story about Sam, Bumblebee, and the Autobots, after all).

Hmm. Not sure what I think of this chapter. It's been a busy time and I think it reflected as so in my writing – but hey, you've made it this far, tell me how I'm doing, huh? And I promise, promise, promise that my next update won't take this long!

Love all around,

mo


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** So, here we go, here is your twelfth installment of Insignificance. I will admit, I wanted more to this chapter, and I wanted it to extend past what was written. However! I start the winter semester in two days and I wanted to post something before break ended – so here ya go.

**Warnings:** none, really. I suck at writing hospital scenes. Mostly because I've never been to an emergency room (knock on wood).

**Disclaimer:** They don't belong to me. They're property of Hasbro, Takara, et cetera, et cetera.

Without further ado – enjoy!

* * *

**Insignificance: Chapter Twelve 

* * *

**

_Thundercracker! Thundercracker! Respond, Thundercracker! _Starscream flipped through his signals, sampling wavelengths and transmitting message after message to his presumably surviving wing mate. _Thundercracker, if you're receiving this signal, I _command _you to reply to me! _He was answered with nothing but static-filled silence. Where in the name of Primus _was _Thundercracker? Had Starscream's comments about Skywarp truly driven the other jet away? The lead jet banked to avoid a missile blast from one of the Autobots, then analyzed his present situation. With Barricade and Skywarp dead and Thundercracker missing in action, staying any longer was incredibly pointless. A gear clicked in Starscream's processor – Soundwave. Scanning the airwaves, the seeker found the telepath's signal and sent him a message. _Status, position, et cetera._

_Autobots currently in pursuit. Requesting backup._

Starscream traced the signal and from his position high above the junkyard, easily found Soundwave. The dark SUV was currently being followed closely by three of the smaller Autobots and it amazed the jet that Soundwave had been able to evade the faster cars thus far. Starscream assumed it had something to do with the terrain they were traveling over – and _that _amused him; the seeker was quite thankful he hadn't been doomed to the fate of functioning as a terrestrial 'bot.

_Repeat: requesting backup NOW. _Soundwave blasted the message through to Starscream at full volume, the transmission so loud it made the jet rock in midair. 

The communications officer was obviously quite peeved. The thought of an _emotional_Soundwave made Starscream snicker, but he promptly replied, _I'll cover for you, except this time, unlike that idiot Skywarp, I'll actually do the job right. Do _not _stay and fight, I repeat, do not attack. As soon as you're in the clear, take to the nearest road and head north. I will protect you from any Autobot gunfire along the way._

_Be prompt, _Soundwave replied evenly. _Estimated time until we reach the open road: thirty seconds._

Starscream didn't have to ask for an explanation; he knew that as soon as they reached the byway, where the asphalt was even and straight, the Cherokee wouldn't stand a chance against two Lamborghinis and a Camaro. Engaging his rear thrusters to their maximum capacity, the jet streaked through the night sky, nose angled downward. Gatling guns and missile launchers unfolded from his fuselage, acquiring their vehicular Autobot targets; weapons systems hummed to life; fuel pumped through the seeker's body as he continued his dive toward the earth. 

Five-thousand feet… Four-thousand… Starscream could barely hear himself think over the roar of his engines. Two-thousand… Eight-hundred… At five-hundred feet, Starscream engaged his weapons, opening fire with his gatling guns. The three sports cars skidded and swerved, trying to avoid the flak raining from the night sky; in his haste to evade the gunfire, one of the Autobots misjudged his position and plowed into another. At three-hundred feet, Starscream launched missile after missile into the growing plume of smoke and fire, pulling up just in time as he felt the circuits on his underside singed by the flames. 

There was no sign of the Lamborghinis or the Camaro; thick smoke and a blazing inferno had consumed the area. A flash of headlights – there, breaking for the open road, was Soundwave, his hood smoldering, and something sparking from his tail end. Starscream knew he would be the one to repair the telepath's injuries, and those of his own – and the jet accelerated, still flying dangerously low to the ground. _I am sending you the coordinates for where we will reconvene. Will you be able to make the trip or is your damage too severe?_

_Negative to the second inquiry. Auto-repair is commencing immediately._

Starscream circled above the lone SUV as it tore over the empty road. Soundwave wasn't one of subtlety, not in _any_thing he did – and right now, subtlety would make all the difference in their survival. The jet sent another message to the cobalt Decepticon many feet below. _If your systems still allow it, scan and mimic the next vehicle you encounter. The fleshling military has profiles of its enemy targets and will not hesitate to stop every sport utility vehicle they see that matches your description. Use this to your advantage, Soundwave._

_Affirmative, _the telepath replied. _Heading north. Nearest town: twenty-three miles. Will make the change at the most convenient time and convene at the assigned rendezvous._

_Copy that_, Starscream responded, then angled his nose skyward. _I am going to conduct a final circle of the area to get an idea of what Autobot scum are remaining. _With a roar of his engines, the jet executed a tight turn back toward the fiery scrapyard. _Oh, and Soundwave…?_

_Yes, Starscream?_

_Obey the fleshling speed limits. You don't want to attract any more attention to yourself._

_Understood._

Starscream terminated the transmission then accelerated like a missile. He raked his scanners over the junkyard, immediately detecting the signals of Optimus Prime, Hound, and Ratchet. Next came the frequencies belonging to Wheeljack and Jazz, and – 

_Something _whizzed by, coming uncomfortably close to slamming into Starscream's fuselage. With a snarl, he shot skyward, his mainframe screaming at him for taking such an unwarranted and dangerous maneuver. There was a squawk and a burst of static before an Autobot signal forced its way into the seeker's communications system. _Get the slag out of here, Starscream! Either that, or _fight _like a _real_ Decepticon!_

Starscream traced the signal to the Autobot scout Hound. _Don't tempt me with your worthless bluffing, Autobot! I _am _the leader of the Decepticons and I _will _seek my revenge upon your pitiful team of terrestrial slagheaps! _The seeker immediately severed the transmission, completed his circle, and pointed his nose north, to where he and Soundwave would reconvene. He didn't look forward to rendezvousing with the telepath, and he certainly didn't anticipate enjoying any time spent with the other Decepticon, either. Starscream _hated _Soundwave – but if Soundwave (and, by proxy, his cassettes) was the last surviving Decepticon on Earth…

Heaving a mechanical sigh of displeasure, Starscream rocketed into the night, knowing full well that the dark line of the horizon had never looked so depressing.

* * *

Any minute now, there would be what Optimus Prime had heard the humans call a _shitstorm. _The United States military, with its armored vehicles and tanks and all its other machines of war, would arrive soon, no doubt; after all, the Air Force had lost contact with its battalion of F-15s and F-22s following their destruction. Optimus had purposefully refused to keep in communications with the military – he didn't want any more humans to die pointless deaths in a war that was not theirs. Still – satellites and radars and other human devices had no doubt alerted the government to the location of their battle and its result so far. Yes, backup would be coming soon, as would humans running about in hysterics, heralding the coming of the Apocalypse. 

The Autobot leader sighed and strode through the junkyard, avoiding the smoldering heaps of car parts and the plumes of smoke and flames that arced into the night sky. His processor was filled with too many things happening all at once, and though Optimus was sure there were Autobots in _need_of medical attention – there was Ratchet for that, and Wheeljack, though slightly injured, was perfectly capable of assistance, as well. Until then… Optimus continued his trudge through the darkness, headlights illuminating his path, until he came upon the battle-scored ground where Ironhide had fallen.

It was an all-too-familiar scene that reminded Optimus of the years of endless war on Cybertron. The earth was scorched and dead, shrapnel of all sorts lying about, smoke still issuing from the larger pieces. A crater – the Autobot leader found the point of impact, found what was left of his fallen comrade and friend… Unlike Jazz, who had been relatively intact save for the fact he had been in two pieces, what remained of the weapons specialist wasn't much. 

The Peterbilt dimmed his optics as wave after wave of emotion slammed at his spark. _Ironhide… You have been a steadfast soldier in my service, and always a good friend._ Optimus felt an uncharacteristic shudder rip through his body and he finally let his feelings take the best of him. With a resigned sigh, the Autobot lowered himself to the ground, switching off his headlights as he did so, and sat at the rim of the shallow crater. The dead would need mourning – intact components would need salvaging – damaged friends would need fixing… _All these years, Ironhide… I've seen so much death. You fought with me countless times on the front lines, my friend… I owe my life to you on so many accounts. We will not forget you._

Something pinged in Optimus Prime's peripheral vision – an incoming message request from the Autobot medic. _Yes, Ratchet?_

_Your help is requested, Optimus. Wheeljack and Jazz are in working condition, but Hound and I will need assistance with their repairs. Bumblebee and Sunstreaker are dragging Sideswipe back to the main site of the battle. _The medic paused, then asked in a quieter tone, _How much is salvageable?_

Optimus turned his optics back to the shards of scrap metal that rested at the pit of the crater. A distinguishable part there, blackened servos and gears there… _Not much, Ratchet. However, we will need all the parts we can get, especially if Sideswipe is badly damaged. _With a strained whine from his servomotors, Optimus brought himself into a standing position again. _I know how close you and Ironhide were, Ratchet. If you request that we not recycle salvageable parts this time –_

_No, I insist we do, _Ratchet replied almost immediately. _He'd have wanted it. _A pause – Optimus assumed the medic was talking to a comrade close at hand, then, _Prime, we need you here. _

_Affirmative, Ratchet, I will be there in a moment. _The Peterbilt took a final look at the remains of his friend, then started the three-minute trek to the other end of the scrapyard.

* * *

"You smashed right into me, you stupid slagheap!"

"Still worrying about your paintjob, Sunny? Primus, sometimes I can't _believe _y –"

"Frag the paintjob, Sideswipe – I can feel _internal coolant leakage_, no thanks to you!" Sunstreaker tightened his already vice-like grip on his hurt twin, then gruffly addressed the other yellow Autobot that was helping him, "Bumblebee, I've got this. Go see if Prime needs your help."

Bumblebee nodded cautiously, knowing full well Sunstreaker didn't trust him after the results of the night's events – and _especially _since Sideswipe was one of the casualties. Carefully, the Camaro shifted the rest of the red Lamborghini's weight into the arms of his yellow twin, gave Sunstreaker a parting glance he hoped conveyed an apology, then transformed and sped away to where the rest of the Autobots were gathered.

Sunstreaker watched the red taillights slash away through the darkness, then turned his gaze back to his brother. "Sorry about that."

Sideswipe frowned, then cringed as the metal plates of his face abraded against one another in their bent and scuffed state. "Always – always gotta play the role of the stuck-up, ignorant glitch-head, huh?"

The yellow Lamborghini shrugged one shoulder panel. "Usually. Around that traitorous 'Con sympathizer, yes."

Sideswipe dimmed his blue optics in a look of disapproval and muttered, "He probably intended for the best, Sunstreaker. How – how could he have known? I'm guessing for all Bumblebee knew, that Barricade afthole could have been completely crippled. At least, that's what it sounds like." The red Lamborghini cycled air through his intakes and cast a glance to the useless remainder of his left arm. It had been torn off above the elbow joint, severed by shrapnel sent flying from Starscream's missiles. "Oh, slag, what am I even saying? I can't say I'm too thrilled about the situation, either."

"I was wondering when you'd give in," Sunstreaker replied, a grim sort of smile finally twisting at his facial plating. The yellow Lamborghini carefully surveyed his brother's dented chassis, optics sweeping past Sideswipe's missing arm and finally resting on the mangled metal of his twin's left leg. "I don't suppose that works anymore?"

"Nah," Sideswipe grated, trying not to reveal to his brother just how much pain he was experiencing. "In – in fact, really, I don't think the entire _left_ _side _of my body works anymore." 

Sunstreaker smirked. He and Sideswipe had been in this situation a countless number of times before. The endless fighting that ravaged Cybertron had claimed untold lives, but the twin warriors had always been at the forefront of the Autobot battalions and had always, as a result, walked away from battle looking worse for wear. Tonight was no exception. "You look like slag, Sideswipe."

"Feel like slag."

"Nothing Ratchet can't fix," the yellow Autobot said with a small chuckle. "Won't he be _thrilled_."

A sad, pained smile. "Maybe." 

Sunstreaker looked away, understanding the implications of Sideswipe's word. Ratchet and Ironhide had been close friends – exactly how close, Sunstreaker didn't know or care – but for his twin to be repaired, it would most likely require parts salvaged from the weapons specialist's frame. _Or the bodies of Skywarp and Barricade_, the yellow Lamborghini figured. He quickly changed the subject to more pressing matters. "Alright, Sideswipe, let's get you to Ratchet, anyhow." Sunstreaker carefully scooped his twin's frame into his arms, cringing at how heavy Sideswipe was. "You need to lose some weight, bro."

"I kinda _did_, if you know what I mean…"

The yellow twin stifled a laugh. "Yeah, _you'd _say something like that." Sunstreaker shifted the weight in his arms, for once not caring that his paint was getting scratched and his metal scuffed. "Let's get you to the doc and see what he can do…"

* * *

Bumblebee couldn't help but hover around Ratchet as the medic soldered some component in Wheeljack's knee joint. The rescue vehicle was silent as he worked, disregarding the sparks that flew in front of him; Wheeljack, on the other hand, was stretched out on his back, optics dimmed, as if he were bored and had been through this same procedure a thousand times before.

Which he probably had, Bumblebee realized. Maybe not due to the war effort, but certainly as a result of his experiments going wrong and blowing up in his face. And Ratchet was most likely _very _used to repairing him, after such accidents… The medic continued to work in silence and Bumblebee grew anxious. He paced away from them and joined Hound and Jazz, the Jeep currently inspecting a gash in one of the Solstice's auxiliary fuel lines. 

"Hey, Jazz," Bumblebee said slowly, lowering himself down next to the silver saboteur. "Is everything going alright?"

The injured Autobot seemed to sigh, then turned his visored optics away from the Camaro. "Yeah, I'm doin' fine."

Hound glanced up from his work and studied the yellow Autobot carefully. The scout had been a late arrival, Bumblebee knew, and wouldn't have a clue of how the night's events came to be unless somebody _told _him… "Hey, Bumblebee, mind giving me a hand, here? I need you to hold this fuel line in place while I patch it up…" 

Bumblebee nodded silently, then leaned forward over Jazz's torso to assist Hound with his work. The injured Autobot flinched, then relaxed, finally shuttering the blue optics behind his visor. "Are _you_holding up okay, Hound?" Bumblebee asked, somewhat hesitantly. Any damage done to _any _of the Autobots was ultimately his fault, he knew – and the Camaro wasn't sure if his conscience could take it.

The Jeep Wrangler didn't look up from the repairs he was making. "Yeah – I'm one of the lucky ones, I guess. When Skywarp came barreling through here like the idiot he is – was – he really was too disoriented to pick out a proper shot. Weapons systems must have been slagged." Hound finished soldering the rupture in the fuel line and glanced up at last. "Bumblebee, I heard about – well, Jazz was telling me about the events that led up to tonight."

The prone Solstice cringed. "Hound, buddy, I _told _ya not to – "

"Don't strain yourself, Jazz, you've still got another fuel line I need to reconnect." The scout turned his optics from the silver Autobot back to Bumblebee. "What you're feeling now is probably worse than any sort of disciplinary action Optimus is willing to dish out…"

Bumblebee shook his head. "I deserve to be deactivated."

"After all you've done for the Autobot cause?" Hound balked, shifting his attention once more to a leaking fuel line near Jazz's neck. "Don't get me wrong, Bumblebee – tonight was definitely a mistake that none of us will let go unnoticed. It'll take some of us a long time to forgive you for your actions – and maybe some of us _won't_have it in our sparks to excuse you."

The Camaro reached forward and held the damaged part in place while Hound welded it closed. "I don't blame them. I should be exiled, for all I care. It's a fitting punishment."

"Bumblebee, be reasonable. From what I've heard from Jazz, you were _instrumental_during that battle in Mission City. Earlier – well, within the last _twenty-four hours_ – I was told you stood up to Soundwave by yourself and held him off until backup arrived." Hound shrugged his bulky shoulders and retracted the welding laser back into his arm. "We _know _you're not a traitor, Bumblebee. You had… a lapse in judgment. A slagging rotten one, mind you, but a lapse nonetheless."

Still kneeling next to the prone form of Jazz, Bumblebee considered Hound's words. It was true – mistakes were rampant during the war on Cybertron, mistakes that jeopardized the armies on both sides. Optimus Prime and Megatron had been close at one time, and that friendship had on more than one occasion stopped the Autobot leader from ending the war once and for all. Loyalties and the side for which one was fighting had been shaky then; planned ambushes, double-crossings, and general treachery had been needed to be dealt with on a daily basis. The Camaro dimmed his optics. Autobot failures of the past and Bumblebee's recent _successes _still didn't justify his actions – and he didn't expect them to. Ironhide and Mikaela were dead because of _his _stupid mistake; several friends were injured – and _Sam_, _his _Sam… 

Sam was dying. Bumblebee was well-aware of this fact and knew it would take nothing short of a medical miracle to save the boy. And – even if, by some small chance, he _was _saved – what would Sam think of Bumblebee _now_, after the disastrous events of the night? Sam loved him – at least, he _had _– but would those feelings persist after _this? _Would he be so quick to forgive? _Could_he forgive? 

A mechanical shudder ripped through Bumblebee's frame and he lost his balance, landing squarely on his aft. 

" – Bumblebee?" A worried scowl crossed Hound's facial plating.

"He probably _hates_me!"

"Bumblebee, what – ?" Hound turned his glance to Jazz. "You got anything?"

The saboteur nodded and moved himself into a seated position. "I – I do. But it's kinda a _personal _thing – "

"Tell him, I don't care," Bumblebee grated. "It's a lost cause _any_way. Nothing I can do about it right now."

Jazz shrugged. "That human Ratchet told ya needed rescuing – the one that ol' Prowl took away – Bumblebee's his guardian. Great-great granddad was the one who found _Megatron_, or somethin' like that. Anyway, Sam Witwicky's the kid's name." The Solstice lowered his voice somewhat and added, "It's hard to explain, but Bumblebee and Sam – they're more than just guardian and charge, if you catch my drift."

Hound's optics seemed to blink, then brightened as he understood the full meaning of Jazz's statement. The scout glanced up to the Camaro, surprise and worry on his features. "That's – that's different, Bumblebee."

"So I've been told."

"You must be worried."

Bumblebee heaved a mechanical sigh. "I am. But after tonight, who knows? Why would Sam ever want to _talk _to me again?" 

"The human girl who was killed by Barricade was Sam's _ex-girlfriend_," Jazz quietly explained to Hound. "Cross-reference that with what you must – but they were still very close."

The Jeep Wrangler nodded gravely. "I am sorry, Bumblebee. Why not contact Prowl and find out where he's taken Sam?"

The yellow Autobot shook his head. "I need to help here – Jazz, you're injured, Wheeljack's hurt – Sideswipe looks like _slag _– Optimus wouldn't want me just _bailing _out on everyone, not after what I pulled – "

"Bumblebee, I give you permission to obtain Sam's whereabouts and go to his aid."

At the sound of Optimus Prime's voice, Bumblebee jolted to his feet and spun around to face his commander. It was the first time he had seen Optimus since the start of the battle, and the Camaro was relieved to find his leader was mostly uninjured. Still, he was taken aback at Prime's words. "Are you _sure? _There's so much that needs to be done here. Sideswipe is in bad shape," Bumblebee added, pointing over Optimus' shoulder to where Sunstreaker emerged from the shadows, carrying his twin.

"He will survive. I have seen Sideswipe in far worse states in the past." Optimus Prime cast his gaze down to where Hound still knelt beside Jazz. "Is the situation here under control?"

Jazz nodded. "Just a few nicks here 'n there. Hound's repaired mosta it."

"Sir, what about Wheeljack – "

"His damage is minimal, Bumblebee. The best place for you is _away _from here."

"But _Prime _– "

Optimus' blue optics narrowed. "That is an order, Bumblebee. I have just gotten word that the United States military will be here shortly – Captain Will Lennox is arriving ahead of the heavy artillery. When he is finished debriefing us of the situation, Lennox will accompany you to the hospital where Sam is being taken care of."

"Understood." Bumblebee took a step backward, carefully studying his commander before, "I'm so sorry, Optimus."

"Now is not the time, Bumblebee." Optimus Prime shifted his gaze back to the Jeep Wrangler and Pontiac Solstice. "Thank you for arriving on such short notice, Hound. Without you and Prowl…"

"Of course, Prime," Hound said, pulling himself to his feet and helping Jazz do the same. "Sounds like we've got a real slagstorm ahead of us…"

"We do," Optimus acknowledged. "Sector Seven – I'll fill you in on that later, Hound – has been brought back together in the wake of today's attacks. The United States government is set to announce our existence to the public, which will undoubtedly bring forth a whole deluge of unpleasant reactions."

"Ain't _that _the truth," Jazz grumbled. "You'll find, Hound, that these_humans _can really be crazy a lot of the time…"

Bumblebee crossed his arms over his chest. "Other world powers are going to be suspicious," he said distractedly. "This country has many enemies on this planet. Opponents may view us as machines of war – either that, or the United States might _depend _on us to solve their own issues."

The Autobot leader nodded in agreement. "That is a very realistic possibility. It's quite probable we will earn many enemies, ourselves, even if we wish the inhabitants of Earth no harm."

"The average Joe won't know the difference between an Autobot or a Decepticon, either," the Solstice added. "It's gonna be one hell of a situation, Optimus."

"We will be ready." Optimus turned his gaze and the others followed – a pair of headlights, slashing through the darkness of the junkyard – a black, government-owned SUV. "That will be Captain Lennox." The Peterbilt glanced to the smaller, yellow Autobot. "Bumblebee… Sam's life is in severe danger. Ratchet informed me that he took a blood sample earlier today – no human hospital is going to be able to cure the boy. However, with Wheeljack's help, it's very possible something can be… created to improve his condition."

Bumblebee, Hound, and Jazz all cringed at once. "Does – does he still _blow things up_...?" the Jeep asked warily.

"Hasn't yet," Jazz said, then added, upon seeing Hound's surprised expression, "but he only just dropped in this afternoon…"

Optimus ignored the comments and continued. "As soon as Lennox relays the situation to us all, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe will be heading back to base. While Ratchet repairs Sideswipe, Wheeljack will analyze the blood sample further and attempt to design a device to regulate and repair Sam's damaged systems."

Bumblebee considered this for a moment. Despite his reputation for setting his experiments on fire – or worse – Wheeljack was, admittedly, a very talented and ingenious scientist. Maybe it _was _possible… The Camaro looked up from the ground and watched the GMC vehicle pull to a halt, shrapnel grinding under its tires; the SUV's headlights stayed on as Will Lennox climbed out and slammed the door shut behind him. 

_Slag the debriefing_, Bumblebee thought to himself. All of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to see Sam – and time was running out. Hopefully, Captain Lennox's style of relaying information was much simpler – and swifter – than that of Prowl.

* * *

_You're dying._

_No – no, I'm not. _

_Yes, you are._

_I refuse to believe it. _

_Then you, Sam, are a fool._

_You're calling _me_a fool? _You? _You're a disembodied voice in my head, telling me shit I'll never believe that couldn't possibly be true. No, I'm not going to die._

_You're hooked up to half a dozen machines, Sam, one of which is cycling new blood into your body because you're bleeding to death. You're at a _human_hospital where they're trying to fix an _alien _condition. It's a futile process. You're dying, Sam._

_No! _Anger and panic spiked through Sam's thoughts – all at once, his mind lashed out, his limbs flailed – and his eyes flew open. He was greeted with a painfully blinding shroud of _white_ – his corneas_burned_ – and with a cry of terror, he squeezed his eyelids shut again. He didn't hear the footfalls of the team of nurses rushing to comfort him – didn't hear the _beep-beep-beep _of the apparatus monitoring his heartbeat – all he heard was the resounding, horrified demand in his head of _Am I dead?_

Sam thrashed his legs, tried to swing his arms – he opened his eyes again, and was once more blinded by the brightness; several objects crowded into his vision, fuzzy and unfocused – the boy squinted, trying to discern them – they were faces! And it was then Sam felt the gentle hands holding his legs and arms in place, voices speaking soothing and careful words that he couldn't quite understand…

The boy took a deep and shuddering breath, body quaking slightly, the room around him slowly taking shape. _I'm in a hospital_, he realized. _Crap, I really must be fucked if I'm in a hospital. _Sam hadn't set foot inside an emergency room for several years; even after the battle in Mission City he had refused human medical treatment for his minor injuries, and had turned to Ratchet, instead. The hands holding his limbs in place finally let go, and Sam blinked into the bright ceiling light that was shining down upon him. No one spoke; Sam cleared his throat, felt it _burn_. "W-what…?"

A male nurse watched Sam carefully, clutching a notepad in his hand. "Welcome back," he said, an uncertain smile on his lips. "You've got quite the case, Sam Witwicky."

Sam blinked and turned his head slightly to get a better view of the nurse. "I –_what?_"

"You were delivered to St. Mary's Hospital – which is where you are _now _– just over an hour ago, by a driverless police car," the man explained, a slightly bewildered look in his eyes. "The manner in which you were delivered was – spectacular, to say the least. Our lobby will need some extreme repairing in the weeks to come."

Panic flared through Sam's mind. "Prowl – is he okay?"

The nurse frowned. "You – you must still be confused. Perhaps I should lower the dose of morphine you're receiving – "

"Morphine?" Sam gurgled. Now that he thought about it – his body _did _seem to hurt a lot less than it had earlier. He moved his head again, and not wanting to raise it from the pillow, glanced over his chest to his right arm, where several tubes were inserted into his vein. Suddenly feeling quite sick to his stomach, Sam repressed a shudder, and quickly diverted his eyes back to the nurse. "No – I'm not confused," he finally said, unconsciously flexing the fingers in his right hand. "You got a phone call, didn't you?"

The man blinked, once, then motioned for the other nurses to leave the room. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and nodded slowly. "We did. From the United States government, no less. We were told _not _to contact your family and, most importantly, not to touch the patrol car that delivered you here. The vehicle in question is currently parked near the loading dock, out of sight from the general public. As you can well imagine, there was quite the panic when a driverless car plowed through the lobby windows."

"I – I was unconscious," Sam muttered. "But – I can imagine, yeah."

The nurse eyed Sam skeptically. "You know what's going on, don't you?"

A slight movement of Sam's chin signified a nod. "I do – mostly. Yeah. They told you not to ask me, I'll bet."

The man's shoulders sagged and he sighed. "Indeed. Top-secret goings-on, I'm assuming? Shady government testing?"

"No," the boy said. "Far from it. But I think – I think you'll be finding out soon. _Really _soon. It – they won't be able to keep it quiet any more. Not after what happened earlier today, and then – then tonight." His brows furrowed in thought. "In fact – damn, I'm surprised they could cover up what happened a few months ago in _Mission City_."

The nurse nodded gravely, though he was obviously quite interested in the topic at hand. "It's unprofessional of me to say this, but – terrorist attack, _my ass. _I'll be looking forward to it, when the government makes their announcement."

Sam frowned. "Maybe… But it'll be quite the shitstorm." He paused again, listening to the steady _beep-beep _of the heartbeat monitor, before asking in a whisper, "Am I going to die?"

Thinking for a moment, the man scratched his chin and rose to his feet. "I don't know, Sam. You're suffering from a severe level of blood loss – not to mention physical trauma – and mental trauma, I'm guessing, as well. Almost immediately following your arrival, we received that telephone call. The government agent gave us strict commands to keep this as low-key as possible – to treat your case as a regular traffic accident. We were instructed _not _to attempt to save you from this… _disease_ – " At these words, Sam balked, " – but to keep you alive. Interpret that as you will. You are hooked up to a machine that's gradually pumping blood into your body to make up for what you have been losing."

Sam blinked. "O…kay. But now what?"

"We received a phone call fifteen minutes ago. A government representative is en-route to pick you up."

Gnawing on his lower lip, Sam considered the situation. It would most likely be some idiot from Sector Seven – but where on Earth would they take him? Unless… Ratchet, perhaps, or maybe Wheeljack, if they had both survived the battle – they specialized in healing and inventing, respectively… Sam sighed, feeling very lost, and his thoughts suddenly gravitated to _Bumblebee. _The boy trained his gaze back to the nurse. "I have a hypothetical question for you."

The man halted his pacing and sat back down on the chair beside the bed. "Don't know if I'll be able to answer it for you, but fire away."

Sam sighed. "Okay – say… Say you're in love. Like, you love someone, they love you back. It's a relatively new thing – like, you've only just admitted it, but you've both known it for a while… So – this person makes a _big _mistake. It's not intentional – they made a decision thinking it'd have a – a different, better outcome. But it turns out disastrous. People, um – get harmed as a consequence. What do you _do?_"

"Do you _still_love this person?" the nurse asked, scratching the back of his neck. "What were they intending to do in the first place?"

Thinking for another moment, the boy replied, "I – that's the thing. I _don't know_. Say – say they were intending to protect an old friend, warn them about something – and this friend takes this warning and uses it against them – that is, they use it against the person that you love. And this friend who was warned – gathers other friends, because _they_ hold a grudge – and they hurt _your _friends…" Sam's voice faded away. "I'm babbling, huh?"

The nurse smiled and nodded. "Yes, but only slightly. I think I can see where you're going with this. The question is – are you willing to_forgive _the person you love? True love holds all kinds of connotations – one being that you've got to be willing to forgive, no matter the crime or the mistake that's been committed. If you truly _do _love this person, then you'll be able to see _past_ whatever has happened, and forgive them for their mistakes."

Sam's brain was already starting to formulate a reply – could he forgive something as severe as a _death? _What about_ two? – _but at that moment, there was a brisk knock on the door.

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**A/N:** So ends chapter twelve. Another crummy ending, yes… Hmm. The first order of business in this latter author's note, however, is the fact that the semester's about to start, meaning – you guessed it, a nice lag between updates. Probably. More likely than not. Which is, I know, totally not cool because I'm as anxious to find out what happens as you are! Seriously. Secondly, when this story is finished, I plan to go on a 2007 movieverse hiatus and write a kind of epic G1 'fic that will involve primarily the Decepticons and the messed up stuff that goes on behind the scenes there. It's gonna be a pretty dark 'fic, so… yeah. However, after that story is complete, I am thinking of writing a sequel to this monster. I had a good premise for such in my mind several days ago – but I've forgotten it. I'm sure it will come back, eventually…

Anyway – I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Tell me how I'm doing with a review – they're very encouraging and they'll be the perfect thing to kick off the new semester!

Love forever,

mo


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** … _wow. _I feel pretty horrible for leaving this story untouched, without even a _tiny_ update, for over half a year. I've got all kinds of excuses that you're probably not interested in hearing about – but I've pulled off such things before and excuses are lame. Lame, I say!

So. It's, um… it's August already. This summer's been busy and it's gone by very, very quickly. And… I thought… I had this short bit written back in March, when I was on a retreat for a weekend to recover from… a lot of crap. Six pages of 'fic is better than nothing, I guess! This'll at least address that seven-month cliffhanger that's been here since January.

**Warnings:** None, except for perhaps the slaughtering of science and basic organic biology.

**Disclaimer:** Transformers are the property of Hasbro, meaning I don't own 'em. Except for some toys. Yesss. The new Animated toys are _awesome._

* * *

**Insignificance: Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

Whoever was at the door didn't wait for a response. In the fraction of a second it took for the barrier to swing open, a frantic stream of scenarios sped through Sam's brain, each more severe than the last. First it was Agent Simmons, demanding to know why the hell more evil robots had arrived on Earth; Mikaela's ex-con father appeared next, threatening Sam's life; last came Secretary of Defense Robert Keller, informing Sam that the Autobots were banished from Earth and those who stayed behind would be deactivated by force –

"Hello, soldier." Captain Will Lennox shot Sam a grim smile, then turned to the nurse. "I need you to rig up an ambulance with whatever the hell it takes to keep the kid alive."

"What – "

"It needs to be ready in five minutes. Capiche?"

The man nodded, gave Sam a final look, then whisked himself from the room.

Lennox turned back to Sam, that grim smile again gracing his features. "You're a real fighter."

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm not. I stayed out of the action as much as I could. I shouldn't – I should have even _been _there! I saw friends _die! _None of it even should have _happened –_ "

"Most violence shouldn't happen, Sam – you know that, and, hell, even _I _know that. You're alive, and that's what matters right now." Will paced the width of the room twice, then took a seat next to the bed. "Bumblebee gave me a ride here. He's waiting with Prowl – he's a _good _police car, I'm hoping – by the loading dock."

Sam's heart rate sped up at the words of Bumblebee being close by. "You – you trusted him enough to take you here, then?"

Lennox nodded. "Sam, believe me – after spending the last seven years in the U.S. armed services, I can easily say I know _all_ about stupid mistakes." The man grimaced, ran a hand over his forehead, and said, "Truth is, I wasn't actually aware of what had happened until Bumblebee decided to explain on our way here."

"How much did he tell you?"

A shrug. "I don't know. Enough. I've got a pretty good idea of what went down and _why. _Stupid mistakes happen in war, Sam – they're unavoidable."

"But _Mikaela –_ "

" – was an innocent victim, yes – a bystander. A civilian casualty. _These things happen_, as regrettable and sad and horrible as they are! Sam," Lennox said firmly as he placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder, "I'm sorry for your loss – I'm really, truly, _very _sorry. Myself, I've become jaded to stuff like this – but for you, I know that it's a terrible burden to carry."

Sam sighed and relaxed in his bed again, his eyes resting on his hands. They were still scuffed and cut and scratched from the day's ordeal, but no longer filthy and bloody – with an inward groan, he realized that his _face_ and his _body _must be _terrible_-looking. Several questions darted through Sam's mind, and finally, he centered on one. "Why are you here?"

"To escort you back to the Autobot base so they can save your ass," Will said, a tiny hint of a smirk creeping into his eyes. "Ratchet and, uh – the other guy – "

"Wheeljack?"

"Yeah, him. They're coming up with something to get you outta this mess," Lennox explained. "Earlier today, you got banged up by one of the bad guys – it's the reason why you're here right now, of course. Your friends are back at the base, working their tailpipes off to find something that will keep you alive and cure whatever the hell it is that's messing with your body."

Sam made a face. "Oh – oh, God – they're not gonna build me into some freak like a – a _cyborg _or something – "

Will laughed. "No, I don't think so. The doc 'Bot mentioned something about an alien virus and Wheeljack figured he could come up with some sort of _blood regulator _in a short amount of time. You're not gonna be turned into fuckin' _Robocop_, Sam."

"Okay, _good_. I was having these weird dreams…"

At that moment, the nurse returned, this time with a pair of assistants. "The ambulance is loaded with the necessary equipment and ready to go."

Lennox nodded, turned back to Sam, and said, "Alright, let's get you out of here."

* * *

In his life, Sam had seen plenty of movies with dramatic hospital escape scenes – this particular night, however, was anything but. His body was too weak to stand, not to mention the fact that there were all kinds of tubes connected to his wrist and his damaged leg – and so Sam was wheeled on his stretcher through the stark, white corridors of the hospital, the fluorescent lights flashing by overhead. Time was apparently an issue, and the nurse pushing him did so at a rapid but controlled pace, fast enough that Lennox had to jog to keep up. They rounded a corner, pushed through a set of double-doors, and found themselves in an antechamber, its bay door leading outside to the loading dock.

Sam could feel the nighttime breeze hit his face – it felt so much _better _than the bottled, sanitized air that was pumped through the hospital. Carefully, he was wheeled out through the garage door and down a ramp that led to the flat ground of the small parking lot. Sam propped himself up on his elbows – there was the ambulance – flanking it was Prowl, on one side, roof lights already flashing – and there, on the other side, a sight that made Sam's heart jump into his throat, was Bumblebee. Unlike Prowl, whose unscathed frame shined in the night, the yellow Camaro was dented and dinged and scratched; his rear bumper was missing entirely, and both headlights were blown out.

_God_ how Sam wanted to spring from the stretcher to which he was bound and brush the hood of that still-beautiful car, and whisper that no matter _what_,Bumblebee was forgiven – but before Sam could say anything, he was loaded into the back of the waiting ambulance, Lennox quick to follow. The doors were slammed shut, a woman connected Sam to several of the apparatuses, and all of a sudden, they were _moving. _Sirens wailed madly; Sam leaned his head back and for what had to be the millionth time wished the night would just _end._

* * *

"I'm done with you, Sunstreaker. It's as good as new."

"The Pit it is! It's bare metal. It looks like scrap."

"_Don't_ test my patience," Ratchet growled, suddenly becoming very ominous and threatening. "Sideswipe's in a worse state than you, and the only reason he let _you _be tended to first was on account of your incessant whining."

"But – "

"Not to mention I still need to tend to Bumblebee and Jazz – and _Optimus_ – and least important of all, myself."

"_Still_ – "

"Get the _frag _out of my medbay." The medic paused and considered his surroundings. The entire aircraft hangar had been converted into a makeshift infirmary, so to be fair… "Just go outside, Sunstreaker." The yellow Autobot made to challenge him, but Ratchet's glower prevented any further complaints. "_Now_."

Sunstreaker gave the CMO a parting glare before turning on his heel and exiting the hangar. It was still twilight outside; dawn would be coming soon and the air was cool and moist. Sunstreaker sighed, glanced back at the temporary base, and continued to plod away, until he had put a good distance between himself and the rest of the Autobots. Exasperated and tired, the Lamborghini settled himself upon a flattened chunk of sandstone and turned his optics toward the horizon. The line between the sky and the earth was a pale yellow, evidence that the sun would rise soon. Sunstreaker circulated air through his vents in a sigh, then glanced down at his newly-repaired armor. Thanks to the dampness of the Earth's atmosphere, condensation was starting to gather on the cooled metal, running in rivulets down the Autobot's chest plates, over Ratchet's repair job, where the alloy had not yet been primed or repainted.

In a scene reminiscent of what had happened during the war on Cybertron, Sunstreaker had been expelled from Ratchet's medbay yet again. The yellow warrior couldn't help the fact he was vain and easily angered; they were faults in his CPU – glitches in his emotional chip. _Probably the same reason why Prime's so honorable, and Bumblebee's so fragging stupid_.

Speaking of which, how _was _Bumblebee doing? Sunstreaker hadn't seen the yellow scout or his human since they'd returned, nor had he seen Wheeljack. The warrior absently wondered if the situation was dire – if Sam's life was in danger, or if Wheeljack had succeeded in detonating another invention meant to aid the boy. In the long run, Sunstreaker didn't care much, one way or another, about the fate of the human. He'd only just met Sam less than twenty-four hours prior – he wasn't attached to the boy like Bumblebee or Optimus; Sam's survival was not high on his list of Things to Worry About.

There was the growl of a nearby engine, and Sunstreaker shifted his position to find the source. A sport utility vehicle rumbled over the desert terrain, its green color dulled in the twilight, headlights flashing every time its tires hit bumps and dips on the rocky ground. The Jeep Wrangler transformed and plodded to where Sunstreaker sat, blue optics glowing softly in the semi-darkness of dawn.

"How're you holding up?"

The Lamborghini rolled his shoulders in a shrug, and turned back to the brightening horizon. "I'm fine. Ratchet kicked me out of the hangar… his usual antics… though I do suppose I was being an aft-head…"

Hound smirked, and kept his optics focused on the impending sunrise. A full five minutes of silence passed between the two Autobots, the warrior and the scout each lost in his own thoughts, before the Wrangler murmured, "I think I could get used to this planet."

Sunstreaker balked at this declaration. "You've been here for less than _one _of their days, Hound."

"I know," was the passive reply. "But just looking at this sunrise – its untainted _beauty_ – that's all the affirmation I need."

"Perhaps…"

* * *

Wheeljack was examining Sam's prone, unconscious form when Ratchet came stomping through the door of his original medbay. "Hey, Ratch…" the inventor said cautiously, recognizing the look of discontent on the other Autobot's face. "What's up? You're not done out there already – ?"

"Primus, no," the medic all but snarled. "What we've got is quite the lot of _honorable_ glitches out there! Sometimes I _wish _Autobots weren't programmed to be so fragging virtuous."

The scientist smirked behind his facemask, then turned his attention to a half-constructed device resting on a nearby panel. "Do continue."

Ratchet threw his arms up in the air in frustration, then, busying himself with checking the human machines to which the unconscious form of Sam was connected, started a rant Wheeljack would remember for centuries. "I ask – no, _tell _– Sideswipe to slagging _lay down _already, so I can work on the severed energon conduits in his arm and leg. Does he cooperate? _No! _That fragger's _whole left side _is either missing or scrap metal, and I tell him he'll _bleed _to death if I don't fix him up. _No problem_, he tells me. _I'll just go into stasis lock until you're done saving Sam._ Can you _believe _that? This is coming from _Sideswipe!_"

Wheeljack raised an optic ridge in surprise, amusement showing in his features. Carefully, he soldered two tiny wires together. "Out of character, if ya ask me."

"You're telling me! So he did – that glitch is in stasis lock, as we speak. So I went to Jazz next – he right-out _refused _treatment. I can't argue with him – not because he's my superior or anything – but arguing with Jazz is _pointless. _So _then_ I went to Bumblebee. He's more damaged than _Jazz_ – all _kinds _of fractured plating, severed wires – and I _know _what Barricade did to him on the battlefield."

"Let me guess," Wheeljack said. "He told you to frag off and not to return until you were done with Sam."

"Correct," the medic said, sounding disgruntled. "So here I am, helping you. How's that coming?"

"Better than expected, actually." The Autobot inventor connected another set of wires on the small device then snapped it shut.

Ratchet moved in for a closer look. Whatever Wheeljack had been laboring on was miniscule – it was the size of a human cigarette lighter, rectangular in shape, constructed from some type of Cybertronian alloy. "What _is _it?"

"I got a closer look at that wound and magnified those blood samples we took, earlier. In a way, you were right about the blood refusing to clot."

The CMO frowned and shot an accusatory glare at the other Autobot. "What do you mean, _in a way?_"

Wheeljack shrugged. "It's a little more complicated than that. As you can see," the inventor gestured toward the comatose form of Sam, who was still wearing his thin hospital gown, " – he has other wounds on his body, ones that were inflicted during the battle. Mostly on his hands and knees, probably from crawling on the ground. Human flesh is _highly _vulnerable to bits of glass and metal, it seems."

Ratchet pondered this for a moment. "Go on."

"Well, _these _wounds stopped bleeding. The blood clotted soon after the skin was broken, unlike the _Cybertronian-inflicted _wound that Sam got, yesterday afternoon. This led me to believe that whatever is infecting Sam is, at the moment, restricted to the immediate area where it was inflicted. Now, that's not so say it _can't spread_ – because I'm sure, Ratchet, as a medic you know how nasty some of those ailments out there can be."

"Indeed. When it's allowed to spread, Cosmic Rust is one of the worst ones out there."

"And that's where this gets _really _interesting," Wheeljack said, his headfins flashing a light blue. The inventor rummaged around in a poorly-organized drawer overflowing with medical supplies, then withdrew a datapad of some sort. "You can almost think of this as Cosmic Rust that targets _carbon-based organic tissues. _Because the condition is isolated to one area – that is, Sam's wounded calf – I took a few tissue samples, as well, and had an even closer look with the electric magnifier." Switching on the datapad and bringing up a magnified image, Wheeljack handed it to Ratchet. "As you can see, whatever was on Ravage's exostructure is highly dangerous to organics. At a molecular level, the residue attacks living cells and prohibits them from multiplying, as organic cells do – much like our own internal repair system. This – _virus_ – blocks cellular function. It doesn't kill its host, but it renders the cell useless. In addition, there's a compound in there that prohibits blood from coagulating – somewhat like the chemical certain Earth insects inject into their host when sucking their blood. Hence the reason why Sam's blood is not clotting: the cellular walls cannot repair themselves and the blood, infected or not, merely passes through. The skin that came into contact with Ravage, as well, will not heal itself with a scar."

"_Fascinating_," Ratchet conceded, and turned his optics to the human. "Did you knock him out with something…?"

Wheeljack nodded. "Yeah, actually, the human nurses did it on the way here. I don't know what all this mumbo-jumbo over here is," – he gestured to the contraptions to which Sam was connected – "but one of these tubes going into his body is supplying him with a chemical that is keeping him unconscious – and, fortunately, unaware of pain."

"And the device?"

"It's a beauty," the scientist murmured thoughtfully, picking up the mechanism between his thumb and forefinger. "The compound attacking Sam's cells is, of course, Cybertronian in origin, and has a metallic makeup. I constructed a nullifying magnet that specifically targets that molecular compound. It _should _draw it out of the cells – those infected will die, but with the virus gone, new cellular structures will be able to grow in their place."

Ratchet clapped his hands together in appreciation. "Excellent! So I assume it will have to be _implanted _into his leg, then? Or will it just be attached to the dermal layer?"

"It will need to be implanted into his skin, yes," Wheeljack said, "and that is where I need _you_."

The Autobot medic nodded, and, glancing once more to the unconscious human on the operating berth, wished for the umpteenth time that organics weren't so fragging _delicate._

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

**A/N: ** Short. I know. Besides the crap happening in my life, there are a few other reasons for this unfortunate hiatus. Number one, this story was started over a year ago, back when I was solely a fan of the Michael Bay TF movie – but I've moved on to G1 and Animated now. Not to say that I don't still like the TF2007 movie -- because I do. It's just that I prefer the cartoons. Secondly, and I know this sounds weird from the author of _this _'fic, but human/robot relationships kinda freak me out now. I mean, I'm all for 'bot-on-'bot slash, but… Yeah.

However – and there is a however! – as an author, I do feel I have an obligation to finish what I've started. (Because, I know how it is, to be reading a 'fic that's never finished, and that really does suck.)

Again, sorry for the hiatus, and I hope this short little chapter helped a little.

- mo


End file.
